


Between Peace and Battle

by RenkonNairu



Series: One Sky Continuity [1]
Category: Sky High (2005)
Genre: A Man Who Cleans, A Man Who Cooks, A Man Who Washes the Dishes, Anal Fingering, Awkward Romance, Blindfolds, Canon Het Relationship, Cum Eating, Cumming on food then eating it, Dating, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Meeting, Hero/Villain Relationships, Light Bondage, Making things work to spite them being a bad idea, Oral Sex, Pre-Canon, Sexual Experimentation, Size Kink?, Teasing, Vaginal Sex, butt stuff, discussion of safe words, domestic porn, female dom, un-beta'd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2019-11-22 17:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18139721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenkonNairu/pseuds/RenkonNairu
Summary: Fuck! Battle was in love!He should tell her. He should tell her right now. Just say the words ‘I’m in love with you.’Instead, what came out was,“I’m a supervillain.”





	1. How They Met

Battle was enjoying a hot bath after a long mission in Parazuela. Letting the salts and scented oils work the tension out of his muscles. Wounds might heal super-fast for him, but he still got tension. Laying down in the hot water, the bubbles enveloping his body, the scents of sandalwood and pine wafting around him, Battle closed his eyes. 

It was so relaxing he might have fallen asleep. 

If a massive shockwave didn’t shake the entire building at that moment. 

Giant robot, alien, monster, and super-human fights were a relatively common occurrence in Maxville. That was one of the reasons why he bought this condo. It was in one of the buildings in Downtown that claimed to be ‘super proof’. It wasn’t supposed to shake from the shockwaves of super battles. 

“What the fuck!?” Battle was almost thrown out of his bath by a second shockwave. 

This was bullshit!

Grabbing a towel, he stalked to his balcony to get a look outside and see what the fuck was actually going on. Who was the dumbass that couldn’t keep his super fights under control? And who was the asshole he was fighting? There was a reason Battle never took missions in Maxville. You didn’t fuck shit up on your Home Ground. You protected the Home Ground. It shouldn’t matter if you were a superhero or villain. You don’t shit where you sleep!

Towel around his waist, Battle placed both fists on the balcony railing and looked out over the city. 

He should have known. 

The Commander and Jetstream were going up against what looked like some kind of giant monster. Not recognizable as anything terrestrial, so probably not a common animal mutated by radiation. So, an alien then. Whatever. Battle was about to go back inside, put on some loud music and try to ignore the morons failing spectacularly at their one job. 

Except another shockwave rocked the building foundations and Battle was thrown off his feet. Climbing back up, he noticed a second monster, almost identical to the first on the opposite end of his balcony’s view. The second one swatting at another pair of heroes. 

Battle squinted at them, trying to identify the other morons that seemed determined to ruin what had started off as a nice and relaxing first day back from his mission. 

Two women, both of them flyers. One throwing fire around, the other… not. The one without the fire was dressed all in white. Adjusting his glasses and straining his eyes, Battle just barely made out what might have been an olive branch flanked by a pair of wings on her chest. So, that had to be Dove. The ‘hero of peace’. Battle rolled his eyes. 

The other woman, the one with the fireballs, was younger, and showing decidedly much more skin. High heeled boots under shorts that were just too short to be called ‘shorts’, more like bikini bottoms, honestly. Her ass hung out the back and Battle rather appreciated the view. Deadly monster fight be damned, that little flame-thrower had a nice ass. Above the too-short-to-be-called-‘shorts’ shorts was an exposed mid-rift. Olive skin and toned abs, and an occasional sparkle when she moved that Battle assumed must be a piercing of some kind. The top was much more modest in comparison to everything below it. High collared and long sleeved. All her cleavage was covered, but that just made it all the more alluring for some reason. Across her chest was a stylized bird reminiscent of the late Burnhawk’s symbol. 

Battle might have been content to stand there on his balcony, wearing nothing but a towel, and watch Sparky McNopants flash her ass at the city. But at that exact moment, a third monster dropped down from the sky. Battle waited to see if another pair of annoying and ineffective do-gooders was going to appear to try and take this one on. 

He waited until the count of ten. 

Come on. Where the fuck was Comet? Sonic Boom? Cyclone? Titan? When none of them showed up Battle pushed back from his balcony railing and stomped back into his condo. 

“For fuck’s sake!”

Throwing open his carry-on, which he still hadn’t unpacked yet, Battle pulled out his costume. 

It didn’t matter that he was a supervillain. He sure as hell wasn’t doing this because he pretended to care about all the poor defenseless mundanes that were being trampled by the big bad monsters. He was just protecting his Home Ground. His base of operations. One didn’t need a moral compass or strong ethics to know that only idiots left their home undefended. 

Discarding the towel, Battle pulled on the leather pants over his still wet legs. Black leather, good quality, boiled and polished to a satiny shine. Over these leather pants went two wide belts, studded with stainless steel studs. He usually kept them polished to an almost silver shine, but he just got back from a job, so they were still covered a little blood spatter and dirt. Over his shoulders he pulled a leather shirt-vest. Also, black. Sleeveless. With buckles on the shoulders to adjust the length and buckles on the sides to adjust the width. On his feet went heavy boots. Unsurprisingly, those were also black. Going almost all the way up to his knees, and fastened with more buckles in place of laces or zippers. 

In full costume now, Battle returned to his balcony to assess the situation. 

Still three monsters. Still not enough do-gooding supers to take care of them all. 

With a bit of a weary sigh, Battle climbed over the railing and leapt off his balcony. 

He couldn’t fly, so he plummeted thought he air on a collision course with the open street. Getting his feet under him, Battle braced for the impact. His condo was on the 42nd floor, the landing would not be a gentle one, but not enough to kill him. Super-strength and invulnerability were not technically counted among his powers, but all supers tended to be more resilient than the average mundane. The resilience of Battle’s body had been forged and tempered by years of abuse. A hard landing from a forty-story fall wouldn’t stop him. 

Except he never got his landing. 

That same fire wielding piece of ass he’d just been admiring a few moments before came flying out of nowhere. Not anywhere as fast as Jetstream, but still just fast enough to grab Battle. She stopped his fall and lowered him down to the street safely. 

“Whoa there, guy!” She said, shouting to be heard over the sounds of the monster fight and the noise of the street. “I know it looks bad but there’s no need to be overreacting. We’ll get through this.”

Feet firmly on the ground, Battle looked up at the woman who hovered over him. Up close she was kinda pretty. A bit younger than him but not by much. Mask covering the upper half of her face. But she had a delicate chin that looked like it could be the lower half of a heart-shaped face. Full pouty lips painted a bright and provocative shade of red. Longish hair teased up in that perm that was so popular with younger women, and a shade of red so vibrant it looked unreal. Red hair that was so red it looked more crimson. Long slender neck that disappeared under the high collar of her top. That sparkle he noticed earlier was definitely a piercing. A belly piercing, fake gold with some kind of red stone. 

Battle blinked at her. “You thought I was a suicide?”

“Huh?” The whited out eyes of her mask stared at him. She looked him up and down. Dressed shoulders to toes in black leather and buckles. With a symbol on his chest. Dark hair longer than what was considered average for a man, curled and surrounding his face messily, still wet from his bath. Not wearing any kind of mask, but with wide wire-framed glasses over his eyes. “You’re a super?”

She sounded so skeptical. 

Battle rolled his eyes. He didn’t come out here to prove himself to a small-time hero he’d never heard of before. He came out here to stop some fucking monsters from smashing up his neighborhood so that he could get on with his merry fucking day. “Listen, Sparky, you can fly. Can you lift me up there? Close to its throat, maybe.”

“Which one?” She asked. There were three of them. 

“Does it matter?” Battle shot back. “Start with one, and if I’m successful, I’ll move to the others.” 

He thought she would continue to argue with him. Steve and Josie sure as fuck would have stopped to argue with him. Question his motives. Demand why he even cared if the city was destroyed. Then willfully refuse to understand when he –very reasonably- explained to them that he fucking lived in this city and had a thing or two to say about giant fucking monsters that wanted to tear shit up where he lived. 

But she didn’t. She just nodded her agreement. Hooked her arms under his shoulders, and lifted him up into the air. 

Battle got the feeling she had no idea who he was. 

Raising into the air, Battle watched the buildings and skyscrapers give way to back to the view from his balcony. Three giant monsters from the sky laying waste to the city. 

One of the beasts tried swatting at them, and Sparky had to do some quick flying to avoid getting smacked out of the sky. Taking his eyes off their enemies for just a moment, Battle chanced a glance at the woman carrying him. She didn’t look frightened or tense in the least. In fact, she was grinning. Grinning. She was enjoying this. The danger of it. The excitement. 

Battle couldn’t help but grin back. Life or death situations were exciting. All the more so when there was a beautiful woman with you. Shame she was a hero. Battle might have asked her out after this. 

After some fancy flying, Sparky managed to drop him off on the back of the beast’s neck. Not close to the throat in the front like he’d asked. But at least he was close to the head. 

The creature’s back was covered in sharp spines, each as long as his arm. But the skin under them was soft, more like a membrane that actual skin. Battle punched it as a test of its resilience and the damn thing bounded his stupid fist back at him. The membrane was soft, but eleasticky. Idly, he remembered the Commander and Jetstream were fighting one of these of their own, and all Steve knew how to do was punch things. If all three creatures were the same and their hits were just gonna bounce back off the elastic membrane, then Steve was out of his element and helpless. 

Battle indulged in a soft chuckle. He hoped Steve Stronghold was suffering. 

“What happens when you hit it with your fire?” Battle shouted at his flying companion –but he used the term ‘companion’ loosely. He didn’t even know her hero name. 

“Fireballs just bounce off.” Sparky called back. 

Battle nodded. So, it was immune to both blunt force, and incendiary attack. But what about sharp or piercing damage? He looked at the spines on its back. As long as his arms, but thin. Like knives. Wrapping both hands around one spine, Battle pulled. Bracing both feet against the creature’s back and putting all his weight and strength into it. He almost fell off its back when the spine finally came out, but the spine came out. Spattering Battle with dark green blood as he tumbled backwards. 

“Whoa there, guy!” Sparky caught him again. “Is this gonna be our thing? Me catching you when you fall?”

“I didn’t fall the first time, I jumped.” He corrected her, wondering even as the words were leaving his mouth why he cared to correct her at all. Her opinion of him should not be important. 

“If it happens a third time, I’m gonna assume you’re doing it on purpose just to get me to touch you.” She set him down again right back where she had the first time on the creature’s back. 

The city was in the midst of being destroyed. Smashed up by giant monsters. It qualified as a life or death situation, yet Battle still felt himself blushing at her implication. “I don’t need tricks to get women to touch me.”

She smiled back at him. Smiled. People were screaming and panicking below them. Buildings were being smashed. Homes and businesses were being destroyed, and she smiled. A smile filled with scathing humor, and playful banter. Battle suddenly liked her to spite the fact that she was a hero. “I didn’t say ‘women’. I said me.”

His blush deepened, face burning almost as much as her fire. What the fuck was wrong with him? Blushing like a school boy, and over a hero no less! Where the fuck was his villain pride!? 

She giggled. Giggled! Like they were two people just having a fun day out on the town. “Oh, you are just too cute! I didn’t know black leather boys were so easily embarrassed.”

He willed himself to turn his attention back to the monster he was on. 

“If I’m making you uncomfortable, maybe we should establish a safe word.”

Battle almost stumbled and fell off the creature’s back again. This woman had no shame and Battle kinda liked it. She wasn’t like other heroes. She wasn’t ‘pure’. She had a naughty streak to her. She caught him again before he could truly fall. 

“That’s three.” She announced, like she’d won something. “If you survive this, you’ll just have to take me out on a date.”

Oh, he will, will he? Battle would have rolled his eyes, except he was trying to stay focused on the monster he was supposed to be stopping and not the scantly and brazen clad woman who kept making thinly veiled innuendoes. 

Holding the spine he’d ripped out in one hand, Battle grabbed a second spine with his free hand and swung himself around the beast’s shoulder. Stabbing up with the spine, Battle impaled the beast in its throat. 

The creature might have roared in pain, except no sound escaped it now cut open throat. Battle twisted the spin in his hand, widening the hole, making sure the membrane wouldn’t close up after he pulled out. When he did pull his weapon out, he did so at an angle, cutting even more of the throat for good measure. Dark green blood poured from the wound, and the monster began to fall. 

Sparky caught him again before the beast could pull Battle down with him. “Gotta admit, it is nice having someone who can fly at my back.”

“You- you killed it!” She didn’t seem quite so impressed with him all of a sudden. Like she valued the monster’s life just as much as the lives of the people who lived in the city it was destroying. 

Ugh. Heroes. This time Battle did roll his eyes. She might have a naughty streak in her. Might make innuendoes, or even outright proposition him in the midst of a monster fight. But, in the end, she was still just a hero. Battle didn’t know why he was suddenly disappointed. He didn’t even know this woman’s name. Her hero name or civilian name. She was a nobody. 

She set him back on his feet on the street, next to the creature’s fallen body. 

Battle looked up at her. “This thing was gonna kill everyone in this city.” He told her, voice raised in a tone that implied he actually cared what happened to the fucking people of this town. “I stopped it. Don’t tell me you disapprove of taking one life to save over a million.”

She paused. 

Hovering there in the air. 

Staring down at him through the whited out eye-sockets of her mask. 

Finally, “There are still two more.” She reminded him. 

“And I’ll kill them too.” He informed her, voice level and even. He came out here to protect his Home Ground. His base of operations. He didn’t care about ‘the greater good’, or ‘innocent life’. He just wanted to take all his clothes off, get in the bath, and allow himself to be vulnerable in his own damn home without having to worry about being attacked. 

Those red-painted lips pursed in disapproval. She did not much like the idea of killing. Not even killing monster that were attacking her home and couldn’t even be determined to be sentient. Typical hero. Battle turned his back on her. She wasn’t going to be helping him anymore. He better get moving if he was going to cross the city blocks between him and the next creature. 

As he was running, he felt slender arms hook under his shoulders again and lift him back up into the air. 

Craning his neck, Battle looked at her face. Red lips down-turned in a frown, but otherwise determined. “On our date, we’re gonna discuss the British philosopher Philippa Foot.” 

She took him to the second creature. The one Dove was still flying around. Battle wasn’t sure what Dove thought she could do. To the best of his knowledge, her only power was flight. She didn’t possess any great strength beyond what was pretty standard for supers, and she had no offensive powers. What could she do besides keep the beast distracted?

“Flamebird!” Dove shouted. “Where did you go!?”

“Sorry, Ma.” Sparky –Flamebird- sounded apologetic, almost sheepish. “But I saw this guy jump off his balcony, but then he turned out to be a super too, and- I mean- we took down that one over there.”

Flamebird pointed. 

Dove looked. 

“Its dead?” Now it was Dove’s turn to purse her lips in disapproval. Instead of a mask, she wore a white hood over her head, the hem pulled low over her face to hide her eyes. Even so, Battle could feel her glare on him. “You let him kill?”

Flamebird might not have figured it out yet, but Dove seemed not to be as naïve as her daughter. She knew what he was. At first glance, Dove recognized the villainy in him. It wasn’t the all black clothing. It wasn’t the leather, or the buckles, or the overtly fetishized aesthetic. It was just all of it. Coming together to form a single picture that shouted ‘supervillain’. 

“Put him down, Flamebird.” Dove commanded. “We’ll take care of this our way.”

“But, Ma-“

Dove silenced the other woman –her daughter apparently- with a glare from under her hood. 

Flamebird did put him down. On the monster’s back, the same place she set him on the first monster. 

Battle couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at his lips. Flamebird did as she was told. She put him down. It was Dove who failed to specify exactly where she should have put him down. There was that naughty streak again. 

As he did with the first monster, Battle swung around on one of its shoulder spines and impaled it in the throat with the spine he still held from the first monster. It went down similarly quickly, spraying yet more green blood all over Battle. 

“Darn it, Flamebird!” He heard Dove snap at her daughter. 

Damn if Battle wasn’t starting to really like that smart ass hero with a naughty streak and a tight round ass hanging out of her shorts. She was sassy and playful, and was wasted as a hero. 

This time Battle did fall with the creature. Flamebird failing to catch him because of her mother placing a restraining white-gloved hand on her shoulder. Climbing out from under the monster, Battle looked up at the women. Dove was looking down at him with clear and undiluted disapproval. She did not like his methods and she did not like the fact that her daughter had helped him. 

“There’s only one left!” He called up at the two women. “Why don’t you go tell the Commander that they’re weak against sharp and piercing attacks.” 

He threw the monster spine he still held at the pair. 

Dove dodged it, trying to pull her daughter out of the way with her. But Flamebird caught it. Reaching out with two ungloved hands. Even through the whited out sockets of her mask, Battle felt their eyes meet, and he suddenly wondered what her eyes might look like under that mask. But he pushed the thought from his mind. There was only one monster left and the Commander could handle it –assuming Steve was willing to listen to the advice of others. He’d sure as hell be more likely to listen to Dove and Flamebird than he would Barron Battle. 

There was nothing more for Battle to do. He could leave the rest for the real heroes. 

Battle turned away and went home. 

It was a bit of a long walk and some of the streets were blocked by either police barricades or fallen monster bits. Finally, Battle made it back to the Spear and up to his condo. His bath had gone cold and the floor was covered in water. But it was a shower he needed now. Draining the cold water out of the tub, Battle ran a hot shower for himself and started cleansing the thick green blood from him. 

When he was done, he wrapped a clean towel around himself and went back to his balcony to see if Steve had taken his advice. All three monsters were down, so Battle assumed he had. Good for him. It was nice to know that the idiot could take a suggestion that wasn’t his own. He must have grown since high school. 

Battle was about to go back inside when Flamebird came floating up to his balcony. 

“I forgot to give you my number.” She said. 

“What?” He blinked at her. 

“For our date.” She reminded him, holding out a piece of paper that, indeed, had a phone number scribbled on it. “You’re taking me out on a date.” She announced as if it were an indisputable fact and his agreement was compulsory. “Tomorrow night. Give the city some time to clean the streets. I like Asian food. You can pick me up at eight.”

It was all Battle could do to stare at her. “We don’t even know each other’s names.”

“Well, that’s easy to fix.” She told him as if this should have been obvious. “I’m Mara. Mara Peace.”

“Uh… huh…” ‘Peace’ was not a name he expected such a naughty little hero to have. Then again, if her mother was Dove… ‘Peace’ was exactly the name he would expect a hero like Dove to have. 

“Well?” Mara Peace prompted. 

“Well, what?” Battle asked. 

“Now you tell me your name.”

“Barron Battle.” He announced, then waited to see if she’d recognize the name. Did Flamebird know who Barron Battle was?

“No, your real name, not your super name.” Apparently, she had no idea. 

“Barron Battle is my real name.” He informed her. He wasn’t the type to take a super name. “Battle was the family name and my mother named me Barron.”

“Alright, fine. Barron.” She nodded. Then her eyes looked him up and down, pausing just a little below the waist where his chiseled abs disappeared under his towel. “I gotta say, after all that blushing you were doing, I think your lack of puritan modesty is refreshing.”

He looked down at himself, noting that he’d been wearing nothing but a towel for this whole conversation. His chest and abs out on full display. The terry cloth hanging from his hips, giving an idea as to the angles and shape under them, and the… proportions of certain things. 

She flew away before he could think of a witty comeback. 

“Is that why you keep showing off your ass to the city?” He shouted after her. But there was no indication that she’d head. 

Battle looked at the piece of paper she’d given him. Her real name, phone number, and the address where she expected him to pick her up from –presumably her home. Hot damn! That was everything a supervillain needed to successfully murder a hero and their family. She must have no idea what he truly was, otherwise she would not have handed over such information so readily. 

Going back inside, Battle toyed with the idea of not going. Of just standing her up. Take the hero down a peg, if only her pride.

But he kinda liked the idea of seducing a hero. And he kinda liked the hero too. She wasn’t ‘all good’. There was a playful naughtiness to her that Barron liked. He could take her on a date. Maybe take her back to his place and fuck her until they were both out of each other’s systems. Then be done with it. The dalliance over. 

Heroes and villains could never have an actual relationship. Nothing could come of it. 


	2. How the 1st Date Went

Battle had no idea why he was going through with this. He should just stand her up. Stupid naïve hero. He didn’t owe her his time, never mind dinner, a show, and –possibly- the mind-blowing villain sex he provided.

And yet, here he was. Pulled up to the address she’d given him. Freshly showered and shaved. Long dark curls somewhat tamed and twisted up into a neat man-bun. Wearing contacts instead of his glasses. A black dress-shirt under a dark burgundy blazer –both of them Italian cut. Black slacks and freshly polished shoes. 

He pulled up to the curb and cut the engine. But before he got out to go knock on the door, Battle asked himself if he was really doing this. Was he really about to take a hero out on a date? He shouldn’t. He was a villain. It was unheard of! It just wasn’t done. No, sir. It was not done! He should turn around and go back home. Or go to Divide, dance with some other women, find a nasty villainess and take her back to his bed. He was already all dressed up. 

But then he thought about her playful flirting, her shameless innuendo, and her brazen boldness when she informed him that he was taking her out on a date. There was a level of demand, and command in her that was very villainish, and Battle liked it. She was independent and bold. She knew what she wanted and she took it. 

That was the reason he found himself getting out of the car and walking up to the door. 

A house. Small. Only one story. Probably a two bedroom one bath deal. Not particularly high end, Flamebird –Mara Peace- obviously wasn’t wealthy. But still more than a young and single woman living alone could afford. She clearly came from some version of money. 

An older woman answered the door when he knocked. 

…Or she still lived with her parents. 

How… how young was she? Battle noted that she was younger than him already, but… he thought the gap was small. 

He cleared his throat. Battle never dated back in high school. He never had to ask a parent for permission to take their daughter out. 

“You’re the one from the other day.” She glared at him. 

“You’re Dove.” He nodded, recognizing her voice. Suspicions confirmed. Flamebird lived with her mother. 

“And you’re trouble.” Dove informed him, disapproval dripping from every syllable. 

This was awkward. He really shouldn’t have come. He should have stood her up. He was a villain. That was what villains did. Broke promises –even if he never explicitly agreed to the date- and disappointed fair ladies. They did not try and reassure concerned mothers that he would behave honorably and respectfully towards her daughter. He should leave. He should leave now. This was a bad idea. 

“Oh, you’re here!” Mara appeared behind her mother, dressed in a coral pink dress. Sleeveless, strapless, skin tight, and short. It was a tube of semi-shiny satin that hugged every curve of her body. Breasts, hips, and that deliciously pert round ass. All simultaneously concealed yet displayed by that tiny little dress. “You’re right on time.”

She sounded like she had doubted he’d come at all. Guess her mother had taken the time leading up to this moment to discourage her, and debase his character in any way possible.

“I just gotta put my shoes on.” 

He assumed there was some kind of shoe rack next to the door, because Mara seemed to pull a pair of strappy heels out of nowhere. High stilettos that did nice things to her calves and made that pert little ass seem so much perkier. Battle felt his mouth water. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to endure this date. Hero or villain, she was too fucking hot for him –no pun intended. 

Mara grabbed a purse –no, a handbag- that was bigger than her dress, and pushed past her mother. Before Battle knew it, he was holding the car door open for her like he was some kind of fucking gentleman. What was happening?

The show was a blur to Battle. He tried to pick something a hero wouldn’t like (to discourage any second dates). Something bloody, violent, where the protagonist was an objectively bad person the audience was not supposed to like, and the antagonists were even worse by comparison. Then near the climax, the female lead stabbed a male antagonist who assaulted her early in the movie, and Mara leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Who’s penetrating who now.”

And he couldn’t fucking help himself. Battle burst out laughing. As the screen zoomed in on the handle of the knife and the exaggerated theatrical blood pumped out of the body, Battle doubled over in his seat, holding his sides and laughing hysterically loud. People turned around in their seats to glare reproachfully at him. 

Fuck! 

What kind of sense of humor was that? That was so fucking dark! What kind of hero was she?

When Battle finally got himself back under control he had to wipe tears from his eyes. He hadn’t laughed that hard in years. He glanced sideways at Mara. She was also grinning, though it was impossible to tell if she was grinning from her own dark joke, or his reaction to it. Damn. She just got, like, a million times hotter, and it had nothing to do with the way that tiny little dress rode up when she sat. 

Dinner was even more stimulating. 

She said she liked Asian food, so he made reservations at a small family owned Chinese restaurant. The Paper Lantern. Nothing big or fancy. He didn’t want to throw his money around too much. She might ask how he managed to become so wealthy and then wouldn’t that be an awkward dinner topic. 

“So, who’s Philippa Foot?” He asked over an order of bao that they seemed to be splitting. Battle didn’t recall offering to share with her. He ordered it as an appetizer and she just reached across and took one. Bold as you please. Bold as she’d been since the fucking moment they met. “You said on our date we were gonna discuss Philippa Foot. So, who is she?”

“Ah. Right.” Mara nodded and hurried to swallow the bite of his bao that she’d taken. “Philippa Foot was a British philosopher from the 60s. She came up with the original version of the Trolley Problem.”

“And that is…?” Battle urged her to explain, twisting his chopsticks in his hand in a sort of ‘go on’ gesture.

Mara took her dear sweet time finished off the rest of the bao she’d stolen off his plate before answering. “The Trolley Problem was a thought experiment she came up with in 1967. It posits the scenario that you’re the conductor on a rail trolley, but the breaks are out and your trolley is speeding out of control. You can’t stop it, but you can still control to rail switches.” 

“Sounds exciting.” Battle pulled the remaining two bao onto his own plate before she could reach for them. It was his appetizer, damn it! If she wanted some she could have ordered her own!

“I guess.” She was eyeing his bao, but said nothing. “Anyway, you’re coming to a fork in the rails and have to choose a path. But on one track there are five people, and on the other track there’s one person. No matter what you choose, you’ll end up killing someone.”

“So, it’s –literally- the exact same argument I made to you the other day when I killed the monsters.” Battle concluded. 

Mara nodded. “Most cultures and ethical standards across the world tend to agree that killing is wrong. But if a person is in a situation where there is no other option but to kill, then which murder is the least ethically damning?”

“Not ‘murder’.” Battle shook his head. 

“Huh?” She blinked at him. 

“’Murder’ is a legal term.” He explained. “Its applied to any killing deemed unlawful or unsanctioned, as determined by the laws of the land. In the scenario you described, any deaths from an out of control rail car would be deemed accidental.” A pause. “Maybe vehicular manslaughter, at worst. But not murder.”

Battle had some experience with the ‘accidental death’ versus murder arguments. 

“That’s… not really the take-away of this problem.” Mara told him. 

“But it’s not a problem.” He shrugged. “Not for me. I already made my decision. Yesterday. When I killed two monsters to keep my city from being destroyed. And it wasn’t hard. You protect your Home Ground.”

A server brought them their main courses and they temporarily paused the conversation just in case the server over heard. It wasn’t overtly obvious that they were supers, but there was still no point in taking chances. Heroes wore masks and took fake names for a reason, after all. 

Mara eyed his shrimp lo mein from over her own spicy szechwan chicken. Battle pulled the plate closer to himself and glared a challenge at her. She smiled back at him, picked up her chopsticks and popped a bite of chicken in her mouth. Then added several spoonfuls of the spicy chili sauce on the table. Battle supposed fire users liked it hot. 

“Okay, but suppose the situation is different.” Mara insisted, swinging back to their conversation. “Suppose the five people on one track all voted for Regan, and the one person on the other track is working selflessly to help his partner pay for his HIV meds.” 

“Well, damn. This got political all of a sudden!” Battle bit into a shrimp, ripping the tail off with his fingers. 

She glared a challenge at him. “Do you have a problem with talking politics over dinner?” 

He had no compelling political views one way or another. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to take half the jobs he accepted. Political assassination or other intrigues made up a big portion of his business. “How would I know who the five voted for, or that the one just wanted to save his gay lover? Are they wearing signs?”

“For the purpose of the problem, you just know.”

Battle twirled his noodles around on his chop sticks. He, personally, didn’t care. In this scenario he wasn’t being paid to kill any particular one of them, nor was he being paid to save any particular one of them. He had literally nothing invested in the problem. So, what answer would satisfy the hero sitting across the table from him…? Obviously, she was liberal and soft hearted. So…

“The one working to pay medical expenses,” he began, “is he working on the rails? Does he do maintenance? Keep things working right so accidents like this don’t happen? Could he fix the trolley’s breaks after it finally stops? Would saving his one life save more lives in the long run?”

Mara smiled at him. Apparently, that was exactly the answer she wanted to hear. Battle didn’t know why he was so relived to have given the answer she wanted. It wasn’t like he wanted this woman to like him beyond this night. He was just doing this because she fascinated him, but was a hero, and so just needed to humor this odd fascination in order to get her out of his system. Once this night was over and he didn’t care about her anymore, he never had to see or think about her again. Why should it matter that she flew away with a positive opinion of him?

“I gotta say, it’s nice to meet another super who considers the long-term consequences, not just the immediate ones.” She admitted. “Take the other day for example. Big monsters destroying the city. Okay. But when you put them down, their fall smashed people’s homes, cracked the concrete, flooded the streets with weird alien blood. The city is gonna be cleaning that up for weeks, maybe months as far as repairing damages goes. That cost money. Money that comes from the citizens. Taxes. Every year, our taxes go up because most supers don’t know how to keep their fights under control.”

Battle was unmoved. He was not a mundane, and his skills allowed him to preform services that earned him more money than he –honestly- knew what to do with. But, he could empathize with her frustration of heroes not knowing how to keep their fights under control. Nothing ruined his day more than being inconvenienced by Steve Stronghold throwing a mutant through his local grocery store. 

“That’s just the economical repercussions.” Mara continued. “But consider the social ones. Those monsters were aliens. That proves that there is other life out there with technology capable of traveling through space and meeting us. What if the next visitors truly do come in peace and just want to exchange goods and culture. But because of yesterday’s attack, we don’t trust them. We assume the worst. We shoot first and ask questions later. Catapult the Commander into their mothership so he can smash things up like he tends to do.”

Battle almost snorted into his food. He was not expecting a hero to have a similar opinion of Steve Stronghold as he did. Most heroes he met –which, admittedly was not many- seemed to place the Commander on a pedestal. Like he was some kind of god. Infallible. That could do no wrong. It was nice to meet someone who thought his only actual skill was ‘smashing things up’. Damn if she didn’t just become even hotter! Battle was afraid to admit it, even to himself –especially to himself- but he was kinda starting to like this hero. Like, like her, like her. What kind of hero was she? What kind of person was she?

“What do you do?” He found himself asking, taking an interest in her life. In who she was outside of costume. “Like, as your day job. What are your days like?”

“Oh, I’m a librarian.” She smiled and took another bite of her spicy szechwan that was smothered in extra spicy chilies. 

Battle did another sweep of her with his eyes. Noting the redder-than-red hair, teased up into that perm that was so popular, neck and shoulders bare, olive skin exposed for his eyes to appreciate, the cut of her dress low, displaying cleavage that –while not very large- was round, perfectly shaped, and inviting, the coral pink satin of her dress hugging her curves until they disappeared from his view under the table. She was a librarian?

“A naughty librarian?” He heard himself asking without making the conscious decision to speak.

“No.” She informed him flatly. “When I’m at work, I’m working. There is literally too much to do, I don’t have time to cater to people’s fetishized views of my job.”

Oh. She sounded legitimately annoyed now. He hit a nerve. 

“The other day, someone brought their out-of-control kid in and –while they were studying quietly with their walkman over their ears- this little hellion goes running all over the place, pulling out the drawers of the card catalogue and spilling the cards all over the place. Do you know how long it takes to organize all those cards? Every book in the library is on those cards! Hell! I would still be organizing those cards right now if it wasn’t for the stupid monster attack! I don’t have time to have sex at work. How can you even get horny at work? Work isn’t sexy. It’s work! Do you get horny at your job? What do you do for a living?”

Damn. Okay. He opened up a can of worms there. Apparently, she was full of innuendos and brazen propositions while doing her heroing. That was fun to her. It wasn’t a job. It wasn’t work. At most, it was community service. More likely, an exciting hobby, like sky diving. 

Battle cleared his throat. He never really was sure how to explain his job to mundanes. Mara Peace wasn’t a mundane, but she was a hero. A hero who seemed to still not have figured out that he was a villain. “I work a commission based job.” He finally decided that was safe enough. “I pick and choose my clients, do the job, and collect payment.”

“Okay, but what do you do?” She pressed. “Lots of jobs are commission based. Are you a lawyer? Realtor? Car salesman? Plumber?”

Damn. He wasn’t prepared for follow-up questions. Fuck. “I’m a super for hire.”

“Oh.” Was that surprise or disappointment? Battle couldn’t tell. “I guess I don’t know what I was expecting. I mean, you had a costume, and you seemed to know what you were doing. I just assumed you were one of those niche heroes that I haven’t heard of because I just don’t move in those circles. But you’re a hero for hire. Isn’t that a little unethical.”

He did not say ‘hero’ for hire. He said ‘super’ for hire. And, clearly, she was still ignorant of the –what he thought was a very obvious- fact that he was a supervillain. 

Battle leaned back in his chair. “Mm. But doesn’t the Trolley Problem you just introduced me to teach that ethics are subjective? There is no such thing as ‘absolute good’. Regardless of what your high school super courses might try and teach you.”

“Oh, did you go to Sky High too?” Mara asked, changing the subject. 

“Class of 1978.” He nodded. Not that he graduated with high honors or anything. At least he didn’t drop out and disappear like some people from the group he hung out with.

“No way! We were there at the same time!” She smiled from across the table. “I’m class of ’81. My freshman year was your senior year! Maybe we’ve already met and didn’t even realize it.”

Battle doubted it. Yeah, he had a lot going on in high school. Complicated family life, problems with a dumbass meat-head rival, general teenage hormones making everything seem so much more extreme than it needed to be… Even so, Battle was pretty sure he would have remembered a freshman with an ass like hers. He was preoccupied in high school. Not blind or dead. 

Instead he said, “They don’t teach complicated ethics at Sky High. They push the idea of absolute good and absolute bad. No middle ground. Everything black and white, no shades of gray.”

“You sound kinda bitter about that.” She noted. 

“Not all heroes are good people.” He informed her, and yes, his voice was definitely, definitely bitter when he said that. Even to his own ears. 

But talking about high school made him remember all the shit that was going on while he was in high school. His shitty home life and his shitty father. Paladin, the hero without sin. Fuck! If they only knew what he was like out of costume and behind closed doors! Hero without sin, Battle’s ass! ‘Accidental death’, his ass! Battle wasn’t aware his fists were clenched until the chopsticks in his hand snapped under the pressure. 

“Are you okay?” Mara asked. 

“Fine.” He lied. He was usually very good at lying, just not at this exact moment. “I don’t wanna talk about high school anymore. Tell me where you learned all this alternative moral theory and ethics.”

“Why, from my local public library, of course.” She gave him a dazzling smile. Like she was preforming for a Saturday morning TV spot to promote literacy and raise community support for public libraries. 

The server returned. 

“May I get you a new pair of sticks?” They offered. 

Battle looked at the broken chop sticks he was still holding. “No. But a to-go box would be nice.” 

“A box for me too, please.” Mara added. It seemed she was done with this dinner too, but for entirely different reasons than he was. 

“And the check.” Battle added. 

…

“So, where to next?” Mara asked when they were back in his car. “Did you have another activity lined up, or just back to your place?”

“My place?” Battle asked, feeling his cheeks warm again and thanking the monster attack for proving shitty, half-broken street lighting to hide the blush. Fuck! He was not some modest little school boy. How did this woman manage to make him feel like one? It couldn’t just be because she was brazen, aggressive –almost predatory in an appealing sort of way- and without shame. 

“Well, I certainly can’t take you back to my place.” She laughed from the passenger seat. 

Right. Because she still lived with her mother. Well, at least Battle could be reassured that she didn’t still live with her mother because she was too young. Class of ’81 would mean she was twenty-two now. It might be a bit old to still be living with a parent, but it was a perfectly reasonable age to take back to his place and bed down with. 

That was what lead Battle to pulling into the parking garage under the Spear, and showing her up to his condo. 

“Wow! This place is so much nicer from the inside!” Mara bent down to unstrap her heels the moment she was through the door –and Battle really, really appreciated just how short that dress really was! She laid them neatly by the threshold, as if taking her shoes off when she entered a home was a well practiced habit. “Do you, like, have rich parents or something? Class of ’78 you’ve gotta be, what, twenty-five? How’d you get rich enough to afford a place like this so young?”

“Like I said, I’m a super for hire.” Battle reminded her, closing the door behind them and locking it. “People pay me very good money to do what I do.”

He shrugged off his blazer and crossed the room to her. Stalked towards her was more like it, but not in a supervillain ‘I’m gonna stab you in the back’ sort of way. More of a, ‘I wanna touch this woman but I also don’t know how she’s gonna shock me next’ sort of way. She was far too aggressive and assertive of what she wanted from a man to be a hero, but too community-minded and caring to be a villain. She was like an antithesis to everything they tried –and failed- to teach him in school. She wasn’t pure good or pure bad. She was just… Mara Peace. 

Leaning over her, he –very casually- tossed his blazer onto the couch. Battle didn’t realize just how short she was until now. Without those ridiculously high heels on, when she wasn’t flying around the city, or dropping him onto monsters. She was a petite little thing. The top of her head only coming up to his collarbone (the top of her ridiculous 80s perm coming up to his chin). Battle was six-two, so Mara had to be what? Five feet? Less? And she was so slender and lean. She was tiny! How was he going to do what she seemed keen on doing without ripping her little body in half? Right up the middle.

“So here we are.” He whispered in her ear, having to lean his head down to do so. She was so short. Battle was almost curled over her, trapping her in. “What did you have in mind when you invited yourself over?”

In answer, she arched her back. That pert round ass of hers rubbing against the front of his slacks. Fuck! The way those hips moved. She should come with a warning label! 

“What’d you think I had in mind?” She growled back, moving that ass of hers in just the right way to leave absolutely no room for misinterpretation of her intentions. “So, Mr. Black Leather, what’s your safe word?”

He nipped playfully at the shell of her ear. Not hard, just enough for her to feel his teeth gently scrape over her skin. 

“The safe word is ‘ow’.” He promised. 

Battle would never intentionally and knowingly harm his partners. Sure, he enjoyed the almost electrical throb in his knuckles when a punch connected with an enemy’s face. Or the satisfying snap when he broke a target’s neck. Yes, he could be a violent and vicious man. But that was all business. Pleasure should be about pleasure. Mutual pleasure. 

But Mara pulled away at that. Turning around, she looked up at him with disappointed hazel eyes. “You expect me to stop what I’m doing the first time you say ‘ow’?”

“What?” He blinked down at her. Well, Battle had been wondering how she was going to shock him next. He felt his cheeks warm with another blush. How did she manage to do this to him? “You, uh… what, um, what would you be doing to make me say ‘ow’?”

She shrugged. Shrugged as if it was something he should already know and expect, and it was no big deal. “The usual. Oh! No marks that I can’t cover up at work, though! It’s bad enough just being a young, pretty, female librarian. I don’t wanna have to explain penalties for overdue books with a fresh hickey or bruise showing.”

Bruise?

Fuck!

Battle might have sputtered. What this woman –what this hero- was describing was downright rough! Battle didn’t think heroes were into rough sex. He didn’t think they were allowed to. He thought they were all gentle love making in the missionary position, then thanked their partner for a charming evening, and slept in separate beds… admittedly, Battle’s conceptions of hero sex were limited to what he overheard in villain gossip. Villains loved to talk shit about the heroes and nobody cared if it was actually true or not. 

He never would have imagined a hero would be a… would be a… a bad girl! 

“Well?” Mara asked. 

“Well, what?” Battle blinked at her. He wondered how many more times before this night was over that she was gonna shock him. 

“Are you gonna show me to the bedroom, or should I just put my shoes back on and go?” 

Oh, yeah, like fuck was he gonna kick her out after implying that he couldn’t handle sex with her. Battle wasn’t in the habit of backing down from a challenge and she just challenged him. Without preamble, he swept her up into his arms to carry her to his bed. 

She was so fucking light! Were all flyers this light? Or was it because she was so small?

He kicked the bedroom door open with an unnecessary BANG, and crossed the room to his bed. 

Battle kept his bed as far from the door as possible. Shoved in the corner. He liked to sleep with a wall at his back. Other bed partners in the past had complained that it made getting in and out inconvenient if one had to crawl over the other just to take a piss in the night. But Battle didn’t care. It was his bed and he had to fucking sleep in it, it wasn’t just for sex, and he couldn’t sleep if his back was unguarded. 

He unceremoniously tossed Mara onto it. 

Her light little body bounced on the spring mattress. 

Battle kicked off his shoes and started unbuttoning his shirt. Slowly. One button at a time. She had been moving fast from the first moment she plucked him out of freefall the other day –fast and hot- and he needed to take a moment to slow things down. Cool off. Gain back a little control over what was happening here. Like fuck was Barron Battle gonna let a hero dominate how things were done in his bedroom! 

She licked her lips when he shrugged it off his shoulders. Revealing muscular forearms, perfectly sculpted pectorals, tight toned abdominals. All of it covered in a light dusting of dark chest hair. Lifting one hand, Mara made a ‘come hither’ gesture with her finger. Beckoning him forward. Battle already had one knee on the bed before he realized that he was letting her dictate the pace again. He froze, half on the bed, half off. How did she keep doing this to him?

Mara closed the distance between them. Grabbing his head by fistfuls of his curls and pulled his face down to meet hers. Nails scraping his scalp. She pressed their lips together, hers parting to invite him in. When Battle didn’t immediately oblige, she shoved her tongue into his mouth instead. 

Fuck! This woman moved fast! Where was the chase? Where was the seduction? Where was the conquest? 

When she allowed their lips to part again, Mara scrapped her teeth over his bottom lip, biting down just before her mouth left his completely. Biting down hard. Enough to draw blood. Battle blinked at her, tasting his own blood in his mouth even as he felt the wound heal. 

Her hazel eyes went wide when she saw the bite she gave him close almost instantly. Then her eyebrows came back down as her mouth upturned in a predatory smile. “You heal fast.”

Battle opened his mouth to say something witty. But before even a syllable could escape his freshly healed lips, she was gabbing at his curls again, pulling his hair, and dragging him all the way onto the bed. He wasn’t quite sure how, there was a twist, then a tumble, but somehow that tiny little hero got him under her. 

She sat on top of Battle straddling his hips and smiling down at him as if this were the most fun she’d had all year. He just stared at her, wide eyed. He was not used to his partner being the dominant party. This was an entirely new experience for Battle. But not entirely unpleasant. She’d shocked him enough since he met her that he seemed to be out of shocks to give. Now he was just along for the ride, and Mara Peace was one fucking wild ride already and they hadn’t even gotten their pants off yet! 

Reaching her hands behind her, Mara tried to work the zipper of her dress. The deliciously tight coral satin had ridden up her thighs, but it really wasn’t revealing much more than it already revealed just existing –it really was a tiny dress. After several moments of trying and not succeeding, Mara finally climbed over his legs to turn around. “Could you…?”

Battle paused a moment to appreciate the view she was giving him. Coral pink fabric riding up round hips to show off just the bottoms of her ass. Smooth, round, creamy olive skin, and just a peaking of black lace panties sliding between the cheeks. She had the best ass in Maxville! But she probably wouldn’t let him fuck her in it, would she. By this point, Battle was absolutely sure he wasn’t going to get to do anything without her absolute permission –more likely command. 

“It’s not that complicated a zipper.” Mara informed him. 

Reaching one hand up, Battle pulled the zipper down in one smooth motion. The coral satin fell away from her back and Mara pulled the rest of the dress off over her head. No bra, he noted. That perk in her breasts he noted earlier was all natural. Nothing pushing them up. 

She turned back around to face him and Battle thought he was done being shocked for the night, but it seemed Mara Peace still had one more shock to give him. More piercings. 

Her belly ring he’d already noted. It was hard to miss when she was in her hero costume. Fake gold with a red gem that was likely colored glass. It was still in attendance, shining at him in the dim bedroom light. But he didn’t realize that both her nipples were pierced too. Not until they were bared naked for him. A barrel piercing in each, more fake gold but no red glass. 

“You okay?” She asked, tilting her head to the side, crimson hair falling in such a way that it almost covered on pierced nipple. 

“I, uh… huh?” Battle blinked at her.

“You look a little startled.” She informed him. “Don’t tell me you’ve only been with girls who are plain vanilla no sprinkles.”

He didn’t know what that meant. “I wasn’t expecting so much… hardware. Are there… anymore I should know about?”

Mara gave an unfeminine snort of laughter. Covering her nose with a hand. “What, are you wondering if my clit is pierced too?”

His eyes darted down to those black lace panties, the only piece of clothing she was still wearing. 

“It’s not.” She told him. 

Battle didn’t realize he was tense until he felt his body relax. 

Mara continued to stare at him. “Are you sure you want this?” She asked. “You seem kinda nervous. I gotta admit, this is not what I expected when you showed up to a super fight in black leather and studs. Do you wanna stop?”

“What?” Like fuck was he gonna stop after it had already come this far! 

“You just don’t seem all that into it.” Mara informed him. “Consent is kinda important and, while you haven’t actually said ‘no’, you also haven’t really been… actively participating.” 

What was happening here? Battle blinked at her. What was happening here!? Did this woman somehow gain so much control over him that she thought she was taking advantage? Like some kind of… villain? And he had fallen into the place of the captured hero? Or worse! A citizen!?

Battle grabbed for her hips. No, he grabbed her ass. He’d been wanting to touch that ass since he first saw her, so he did. Hands cupping and squeezing both cheeks, fingers ghosting over the lace between them to tease her crack. He bucked his hips up so that she could very clearly feel that he was still interested and still ready to go. Like fuck was he gonna get scared off by some tiny little hero that liked to play at being bad!

“If you stop, I’ll never forgive you.”

She smiled down at him. “Do you wanna revisit the safe word conversation? I usually use ‘sonnet’. If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, just say that and I’ll stop. Okay?”

Challenge accepted. Battle was determined to never utter that word. “Do your worst!”

Mara looked like she was about to say more. Her lips parted, but no sound escaped. Instead, her eyes turned downward, resting on his belt buckle. Small deft hands began unfastening it. Battle was obliging enough to raise his hips so she could pull it out from around his waist. 

He was expecting her to throw it across the room and then tear into his pants. He was not expecting her to grab both his wrists, raise them above his head, then wrap the belt around them. Pulling the strap tight so that the heels of his hands rubbed together. She tied the length of the belt to the metal frame of his bed’s headboard. Battle gave it an experimental tug. He could still get out if he needed to. The headboard would break before the belt did, but he could escape if he needed to. He could still defend himself against the hero if he needed to. 

Mara’s hands slid from where she tied his hands up. Down his arms to lightly tickle his armpits. Palms ghosting down his sides. Until, finally, they came to rest at the waistband of his slacks. 

Fingers worked the button, then the zipper. Sliding between the material, Battle didn’t even realize how quickly her hands moved until his erection bobbed out.

Thick and long. Veins throbbing through the foreskin. A bead of pre-cum already threatening to drip down the shaft. He’d been stiff almost from the moment he picked her up from her house and now her mouth was so close to it! He could feel her hot breath on the sensitive skin. 

Mara smiled at it. Tucking a strand of scarlet hair behind one ear. “I was kinda hoping.” She whispered, breath ghosting down his shaft. “After I saw you in your towel.”

Battle bucked his hips, trying to get the head closer to her mouth. But she lifted her face just out of its reach. Battle thought about grabbing her face and shoving it down on his cock, but he forgot his hands were bound and all he succeeded in doing was straining the screws that held his headboard to the wall. Her eyes darted up to his with a silent laugh. Slumping back against his headboard, he stared at her. Barron Battle didn’t know you could torture a person without causing a single ounce of pain. 

“Well?” He demanded. “Are you gonna do something with it, or just breath on it?”

“So impatient.” Mara smiled at him. 

She hooked her fingers in the waist bands of both his slacks and his underwear and pulled them both down together. Sliding off the bed, she pulled one leg off, then the other. Finally, Battle was wearing nothing but his socks –and his belt, too, he supposed. 

Mara stood there, at the end of the bed, admiring his naked body. Muscular and sculpted calves, covered in dark leg hair, toned thighs, narrow hips. Thick veiny cock rising up out of a forest of dark curled pubic hair. She licked her lips again. There was just something so deliciously _male_ about all that dark hair and muscle and Mara drank in every rippling inch of it. 

Locking eyes with Battle, she flashed him a teasing smile, hooked her thumbs in her own lace panties, and slid them off her round hips. They slipped down her legs to rest in a pool on the floor. More creamy olive skin, absent of tan lines. Smooth and unblemished all the way down to the lips of her sex. Waxed and baled. Not a thread of hair. Of course, having such a revealing hero costume, she would be diligent with her grooming down there. Mara stepped out of her panties as she crawled onto the bed. 

Battle felt a lump of anticipation form in his throat and he felt himself swallow with nerves. He was somehow so much more aware of the belt binding his hands as Mara Peace bend her head down and started trailing light kisses up the inside of his legs. 

Starting at the ankles. Just the slightest brush of lips against hairy skin. The touch was so light. A kiss on his ankle, his mid-calf, his upper calf, the inside of his knee. Every caress of her mouth was so gentle, yet each one sent an almost electric shock of excitement up his whole body. 

But when she passed the knee, getting to the softer, more tender skin of his thighs, Mara changed from kissing to biting. Teeth scrapping against the inside of his thighs. Each bite getting harder than the first. Just a little nip of front teeth on his lower thigh. Incisors on his mid-thigh. Canines on his upper thigh. Battle gave a very undignified yip of mingled surprise and pain when she bit down hard on the sensitive skin of his upper thigh, dangerously close to his balls. 

Mara’s head came up instantly, her hazel eyes full of concern. “If you don’t like something, just use the safe word.” 

Fuck the safe word! He wasn’t gonna let her beat him! He’d taken worse than this! No hero was gonna get him to say ‘uncle’! Bring it on, Sparky! Out loud, he said, “I… was expecting a little more attention… elsewhere.” 

Here eyes flicked back down to his straining penis. She smiled again. “Aw… does this guy feel neglected?”

Battle watched with suspended breath as her face bend down, lips parted, mouth open. He felt her hot breath on the head. Then the shaft. Then he realized she was still teasing him. Her mouth continued to travel lower. Lower. Until her lips pressed a kiss to his balls. Battle let out an undignified whimper of desperation. He wanted her to do something to his cock so badly! If not suck it then just stroke it with her hand. Something! Give him something! He was dying here!

Then she took his balls in her mouth and Battle forgot how to form complexed thoughts for a moment. 

His head snapped back as he let out a violent moan. Sounding loud even to his own ears. He would have clapped a hand over his own mouth in embarrassment, but his hands were still bound. All he succeeded in doing was shaking the headboard. 

Gently sucking on his sack, Mara flicked her tongue over one testicle, then the other. Then her tongue slid upwards to prod gently at the base of his shaft where it joined his balls. 

Battle moaned again. Fuck! Where did a hero learn to do this!?

Releasing his balls from her mouth, Mara licked one long stroke up his shaft as she raised her head back up. Battle didn’t realize he was panting until they locked eyes again. 

“Was that the kind of attention you were expecting?” She asked coyly, almost mockingly.

Battle bared his teeth challengingly. “You know what I was expecting.”

Mara tapped her chin, as if thinking. “Oh, yes, dicks are always expecting to be put in mouths.” Her hand drifted down to ghost her fingers over his shaft. Not enough to be a caress, but just enough to make him keen for more. “But what do I get out of that?”

“The power of knowing you can bring that kind of pleasure.” He suggested. It was the reason he liked making his partners cum. The ego boost. 

“Yeah, that sounds great and all.” Mara admitted. “But I’d really just rather get to cum myself instead of making it happen for someone else.”

Battle was about to promise her that he wouldn’t cum from just a little fellatio, and even if he did, his body recovered quickly. Barron Battle had never left a partner unsatisfied and he wasn’t about to start now –even if his current partner was a fucking hero! He didn’t get to utter a word, however. Every coherent thought vanished from his head again when Mara climbed to her feet, braced one foot against the headboard close to where she’d tied his hands, and shoved her baled, wet, pussy in his face. 

“Make me cum and maybe I’ll consider sucking your dick!” She commanded. 

Eyes wide, Battle stared up her body. Past the lips of her sex, over the flat plain of her belly. From his angle, her face was partially blocked by her pierced tits sticking out from her chest, but from between her breasts he could see her grinning down at him. She was enjoying this. Dominating him. Pushing him around and dealing out commands. Barking orders selfishly like a… like a villain! 

But Battle was kinda liking it too. He liked assertive, aggressive women. Who knew what they wanted and went for what they wanted. More often than not, when Battle got a woman to his bed, she turned into a fucking pillow princess. She would lay there and get fucked. Enjoying every forceful thrust of his hips as he moved his cock inside her. But she wouldn’t fuck back. She would take it. Not give it. But not Mara. She was an active participant. More than just an active participant. 

Leaning his face up, Battle licked up her moist slit. Tasting her juices and deciding very quickly that he liked the flavor. 

Fresh and clear. With a heady flavor that made his head go all fuzzy. 

When he licked again, he made his tongue go deeper. Parting her folds. Exploring her. Wiggling his tongue upwards Battle searched for that delicate bud of nerves she assured him wasn’t pierced. 

Mara moaned when his tongue found her clit. Hands resting on his head for balance. Fisting his hair with gentle appreciation. “That’s a good boy.” She sighed. “Just like that.”

Battle preened at the praise and redoubles his attention on her clit. Switching from just licking, he closed his lips around it and sucked gently. Mara moaned louder, the hands in his curls pulling his hair harder. Fuck! Since when did he enjoy hair pulling so much?

Lips wrapped around her clit, sucking gently, Battle returned his tongue to the task. Flicking it rapidly over the sensitive bud, and with every quick pass of his tongue, he sucked a little harder. 

Mara’s moans increased in volume again. Growing louder until she as almost screaming. Her wetness increasing. Battle kept at it. He was a relentless villain, and he was a relentless lover. He didn’t stop even when he felt her body shudder over him, her juices flowing out of her so fast she was almost squirting. It dripped down Battle’s face and chest. 

“Did I make you cum?” He asked when she pulled away. Grinning up at her with a self-satisfied grin. 

“Cheeky boy.” Mara panted. She was flushed, her olive skin colored a delightful shade of pink by her orgasm. Her legs trembled, so she sank back down to straddling his body. Wet pussy smearing her juices all over the hollow of his stomach. “I suppose that deserves something in return.”

He was expecting her to slide back down her legs, he was not expecting her to swing her body around so that her ass was just short of his face when she closed her mouth over his cock.

Battle threw his head back against the headboard when he felt her wet mouth finally slide down his needy erection. Soft lips, and slithering tongue. So wet, and so, so, so, warm! Fuck! It was like being kissed by fire! Slathered and sucked by pure wet heat! Battle gave another embarrassingly loud moan, gasping at the pleasure in his cock. Panting hard, gasping for breath, he lifted his head to look at her and saw only that pert round ass. 

Hands jerked against the belt binding them again as he tried to reach out and pull that ass closer. He had been admiring her ass from the moment he first laid eyes on Mara Peace. Perky and round, creamy olive skin, tight little hole… he wanted to at least touch it, tease it! But he couldn’t even get his hands close to it! Battle let out a keep on desperation. 

Mara’s head came up off his cock with a little wet pop. 

She looked over her shoulder at him. “I think that’s enough foreplay, don’t you?”

“This was foreplay!?” He gaped at her. 

She just smiled back at him. “Well, it’s certainly not the main event.”

Swinging her body around again, Mara reached one hand down between her legs to hold herself open as she slid down on his cock. 

Battle couldn’t help the gasp that cut from his throat when he felt her tiny body envelop him. She was so fucking tight! He stared at where they were joined. Thick cock disappearing between her thighs. How the hell did she manage to fit all of him inside her!? She was so small! 

Mara let out a little gasp of her own. A soft intake of breath that was let out again almost immediately as a moan. 

“Fuck, Sparky, you’re so tight!” He groaned, feeling the walls of her insides press in on him. Tight, and wet, and hot. Fuck, it was hot! Leave it to a fire wielder to be hot literally as well as metaphorically. 

She grinned. Grinned like he’d just made the best joke in the world. Moving her hips in a way that stirred him up inside her. His shaft sliding along her walls. Making it feel like she was sucking him in deeper. “Only because your dick is so big.”

Another moan rumbled out of Battle’s throat. “Mmm. I guy could get an ego hearing things like that.”

Mara leaned forward, one hand grabbing at his hair again. “A guy might deserve the ego if he shared a little bit or the work. Move your hips!”

He was more than happy to oblige. Bucking his hips, thrusting himself up into her. So deep, he felt the head press against her cervix. All the way inside her. Fuck, he was all the way inside her! Every time Battle thrust up, it was as deep as he could go. He filled her completely. And she was so tight around him. Squeezing his dick. Like her body was sucking him in. Milking him. 

Battle bit his lower lip. Fuck! He was gonna cum! He was gonna cum already and he only just started moving inside her!

He pinched his eyes shut, trying to hold back. Where had all his super stamina gone? He wasn’t some young virgin. He could hold out longer than this!

But she kept moving her hips. Moving his cock around inside her deliciously. Sliding the shaft against her walls so that he hit every sensitive spot and nerve. 

Fuck! She was so fucking wet! Battle could feel it dripping between his legs under her. Everything was so slippery. Sliding together with no resistance. 

Mara was panting, mouth open. She was close to cumming too. If he could just hold back a bit longer. Just bring her to her orgasm before he let go. 

Battle thrust deep again, making her moan, trying to push her to her peak. But every time he did, he dragged himself dangerously close to his own completion. So it was a jerky, halting rhythm he fell into. Thrust up deep. Pause to hold back own orgasm. Thrust deep again. Fuck! Stop and pause longer. 

All the while, Mara kept up her own movements on a much steadier and more consistent rhythm. 

Finally, he felt her body shudder, her walls close in around him. Fuck! He didn’t think she could get any tighter. 

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Battle let go. His orgasm ripped through his body, right on the heels of hers. He let out a sound he didn’t know he could make as his stiff cock rammed into her cervix one more time, spilling everything he had inside her. 

Mara slumped over him, breathing hard. 

Battle was likewise finding it difficult to fill his lungs. 

Pushing herself back up, Mara reached over his to untie the belt from the headboard. Trusting Battle to untangle the rest of the leather from around his wrists himself. She rolled off him and cuddled up to his side, content and threatening to fall asleep. 

Throwing the belt across the room, Battle looked at the woman laying with her head pillowed on his chest. 

That was the best sex he’d ever had. 

And he had it with a fucking hero!

Shit!

Battle worried he might be falling in love. …and she still had no idea he was a supervillain.


	3. ...And Then Things Took a Turn

It wasn’t the fact that Battle recovered quickly and didn’t need as much sleep as the average mundane or super that caused him to wake in the morning. It was the fact that it was hot as balls under the blanket! Gawd! It was like a furnace in his bed!

Throwing the covers off, Battle sat up and put his glasses on. He looked at the woman next to him. A petite little body, narrow shoulders and slender legs, but wide hips and a perky round ass. Mara Peace, the superhero known as Flamebird. He guessed fire users ran hot. Damn she was hot! In all ways. 

He climbed out of bed and crossed the room to his dresser, pulling out a pair of black sweatpants. Battle didn’t usually like to put on clothes until after he showered, but after last night he was feeling the inexplicable compulsion to make breakfast for her and he did not like to cook naked. He picked up his own cloths from the bedroom floor, throwing what needed to go in the laundry in the hamper and what was still clean enough to be reworn before the next washing into his closet. Her clothing he left on the floor. All except her panties, which Battle found himself picking up and stowing in his pants pocket. 

It was much, much cooler in the open apartment than it was in the bedroom. Damn, fire wielders produced a lot of heat. Sleeping with one could be nice in the winter, but right now? Fuck! Battle slid the balcony door open to let in some fresh air and cool the place down even more. Mara’s name should have been ‘Furnace’, or ‘Radiator’, or ‘Inferno’, not ‘Flamebird’. It was too gentle and really downplayed the sheer amount of raw heat her body could produce. 

In the kitchen, he pulled out frying pan and mixing bowls. Opening cupboards and pantries, Battle piled the counter with flour, buttermilk, eggs, sugar, baking soda, salt, butter, and vanilla extract. He hadn’t used his mother’s pancake recipe in years. But he found himself wanting to impress Mara when she woke up. He wanted her to still like him after she left today. He wanted her to come back and do that to him again. 

Battle had a short stack ready by the time she finally wandered out of the bedroom. Ambling across the living room, completely naked with no regard for the open balcony door, completely bare for anyone at a high enough vantage point to see. Battle couldn’t help but stare. She was even more stunning in the light of day! Warm olive skin, absent of any tan lines. Breasts small, but round and perky. Body piercings catching the morning sun. Red hair a tousled mess. If Battle didn’t have a lit stove and a hot pan in front of him, he might have mauled her again. 

“Mm, something smells good!” 

He had to force his eyes away to flip the pancake he was frying before it could burn. “I made breakfast.”

“Wow! A big dick and cooking skills! You’re Mr. Perfect!” She pulled up a stool at his kitchen bar, Battle didn’t have a dining table. “So, what’s wrong with you then? Why hasn’t some other woman snatched you up and tied you down with a ring?”

Sliding the most recent pancake on top of the existing stack he placed the plate in front of her, offering syrup, brown sugar, cinnamon, and butter as dressings. Battle smirked at her. “Apparently, I prefer being tied down with belts, not rings.”

He expected a sassy smirk back and some kinda comment about how he moaned like a bitch –because Battle was very aware of the sounds he made last night. Instead, she looked almost apologetic. 

“I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.” She said. “When you showed up to a monster fight dressed head to toe in black leather, I just assumed you were into it. But, last night, you seemed completely new to what I was doing.” 

“I…” Battle cast his brain around, trying to think of something to say. “I’m not used to women being so clear with what they want.” 

And that was what Battle liked most about it. That she was not only clear with what she wanted, but that she took it. She was assertive and bold. She didn’t play at modesty, or act meek thinking it would play to his male vanity. She told him what she fucking wanted from him and that was what Battle liked! 

Also, the surrender of it. It was actually kinda nice being able to give up the power to someone else. Have someone else dictate the pace so that you didn’t have to worry if you were moving too fast, if they liked this or didn’t like that, if you were making them uncomfortable and they were just being too meek or ‘polite’ to say anything. Battle didn’t have to be in charge. It was someone else’s responsibility. He could just lay back and enjoy. 

“Giving up control was a little new, too.” He added. 

“Ya know, the submissive is actually the one who’s in control.” Mara drizzled syrup over her pancakes and took a bite. “All you have to do is say one word and everything stops. Nothing goes any further. You’re the one who decides to keep things going or end everything.” A pause. “Hey, do you have any hot sauce?”

“No.” He informed her, mentally adding hot sauce it to his shopping list. If he wanted her to come back and fuck him again, he should at least stock the basic condiments she liked. “I told you to do your worst last night. You could have done much, much more before I reached my limit.”

She gave another almost apologetic smile. “Like I said, you seemed new to the whole thing. I didn’t want to scare you away. That, and I didn’t bring any of my supplies with me. I thought you’d have your own.”

He stared at her. Mind skipping right over the part where he should be insulted that she thought he scared so easily, and focusing instead on the last part of that statement. “Supplies?”

But Mara seemed not to be listening. She pushed her stool back from the bar and stood, taking her plate of pancakes with her. “Since you don’t have anything spicy, I think this needs something savory.”

“I can fry up some bacon.” He offered like an innocent idiot. 

Mara smirked at him, coming around the bar and into the kitchen. She set the plate down next to the stove. Her other hand hooking into the waistband of his sweatpants and pulling them down. “That’s not the kind of savory I was thinking of.”

That was the only warning Battle got before she sank to her knees on the kitchen floor and took his cock in her mouth. 

He hadn’t showered yet. It was covered in sweat, and her own juices from the previous night. Dried now, and crusty. It couldn’t have smelled good. It couldn’t have tasted good. But Mara didn’t pause, or gag, or change her mind and spit him out again. Instead, she sank his cock all the way into her throat. Taking him as deep as she could.

Battle gasped, one hand groping at the counter for balance as his knees went inexplicably weak. She really was a shameless, hedonistic little creature. He loved every bit of it! 

Lips sucking to his base. Tongue slathering his shaft. Throat tight around the head. Battle’s other hand fisted in her hair, pulling on it. Moving her mouth up and down on his cock. Fuck! She was good at this! He felt her swallow, the muscles in her throat contracting, tightening around him. Hgn… that was so good! He let out another loud moan. 

Mara pulled back with a wet smack of lips and gasped for air. 

But she only took a breath before she was sinking him back into her mouth again. Warm, and wet, and tight, and so very very hot around him. One hand cupping his balls, fingers massaging the sensitive skin just behind his sack. Battle groaned. The sensation almost too much for him. His knees felt weak and he hand to put more weight on the counter as she pushed him to his climax. 

She pulled her mouth off him just before he came. 

Grabbing her plate of pancakes, Mara angled his dick so that he shot his load on top of her breakfast. “That’s the sauce I want.”

It was all Battle could do just to stare at her. 

She stood. Setting the plate back on the counter, and cut a piece of the cum covered pancakes. She slid it into her mouth slowly, meeting his eyes as she did so. Chewed and swallowed. Then licked her lips with a sigh of appreciation. “That’s the savory I like.”

‘I’m in love.’ Battle realized, watching her eat his cum as if it were a gourmet sauce. This should be impossible. She was a fucking hero for fuck’s sake! She was the enemy! And yet, Battle did not want to go a single day without seeing her. Without that playful sultry smirk being aimed at him. Without that sassy, naughty mouth. That brazen attitude. Her utter and complete lack of shame. Fuck! Battle was in love! 

He should tell her. He should tell her right now. Just say the words ‘I’m in love with you.’

Instead, what came out was, _“I’m a supervillain.”_

“What?” She stopped eating. A bite of cum-covered pancake half-way to her mouth. One thick white drop of spunk dripping onto the counter. 

Fuck!

That wasn’t what he meant to say. 

“I mean-“ How could he fix this? “I’m a super for hire and the majority of the jobs I take tend to be bad guy stuff.” That wasn’t an improvement. 

Mara continued to stare at him. “You’re a henchman?”

“No, no, no.” Battle assured her. “I don’t take orders from anyone. I’m my own man. I’m an independent contractor.”

That meant he did not have the excuse of being controlled by bigger badder supervillain to absolve him of guilt. He was evil because he chose to be evil, not because it was his job to be evil. 

Her fork clattered onto her plate as Mara pushed away from the counter. Backed away from him. One hand going to cover her breasts, the other cupping the smooth skin of her sex. She felt vulnerable, he realized. Naked and exposed in the lair of a supervillain. As far as she was concerned she was on Enemy Ground. Her wide, hazel eyes stared at him, unblinking. Accusing him. As she backed up. 

Out of the kitchen. Back across the living room. 

As she passed the couch, Mara reached out for her handbag that she’d left there the previous night. That absurdly huge purse that was probably bigger than her tiny dress was. Never taking her eyes off him, glaring across the room with suspicion and accusation, she fished a hand inside the bag blindly. Feeling around inside for something. 

“Calm down, Sparky.” He tried to sooth her. Tried and failed. Battle hadn’t had to comfort a distraught woman since his mother passed away. 

She pulled out a wad of orange fabric that turned out to be the bottoms of her hero costume. Battle figured this out when he watched her lift up her legs, floating in the air, to slip them on. Short-shorts that were too short to be called ‘shorts’, he sweet little ass hanging out of them. So, she was one of those supers that carried their costume around with them. He supposed that was smarter than Steve who insisted on wearing his super-suit under his clothes all the time. 

“I- I told you my name!” She shouted. “I let you learn where I live! Where my mother lives! You’ve been to my home!”

The top of the costume came out next and she had to take her eyes off him briefly to pull the long-sleeved shirt over her head. Her body tensed when she couldn’t see him, expecting an attack. When the shirt was on and there was nothing blocking her view again, she looked surprised Battle hadn’t taken the opportunity to rush her. 

“Mara-“ He tried again, hoping maybe her name instead of the nickname would have an easier time getting through. 

Hands balling into fists, she jerked her forearms and fire erupted over her. Bright, golden, hot flames. “If you attack my home, I swear, I’ll roast you alive!”

Damn, threatening to kill him with fire should not turn him on as much as it did. But Battle tried to push the feeling away. Getting horny was not what he needed right now. 

“I won’t.” He promised. “I’m not that kind of villain.”

“Then what kind of villain are you?” She demanded, flames writhing over her shoulders, across her chest. 

In answer to this, Battle grabbed for the TV remote and flipped the box on. He flicked through the channels until he found a news station that was –luckily- covering the story of his latest mission. The one he’d just come back from before the Commander’s stupid giant alien fight ruined his day. His mission in Parazuela. Where he was contracted to kill the General that had set himself up as dictator there. The General and his immediate heir. 

Battle imagined it was supposed to be a coup. That he was hired by someone else who wanted to take power. But there wasn’t really any particular figure in the right position to seize power immediately. Battle didn’t ask. It wasn’t his job to ask questions. He just did the job he was paid for –and he was paid well. 

Mara’s eyes flicked to the TV and the news. 

“…civil unrest in the streets, following the death of General Miguel Llanos-Castillo…” the reporter was saying. 

“That’s the kind of villain I am.” Battle told her. “I take powerful people out of play and topple governments.”

She continued to stare at the TV as the reporter launched into a brief explanation that the General and his closest Lieutenant were both found dead the same morning with their throats cut. Obviously foul play. But there were no suspects, and every faction was accusing every other faction. The tension was leading to rioting in the streets as the oppressed citizens of Parazuela rose up in protest. 

“You- you killed them?” She said. “You’re a murderer.”

“I prefer the term ‘assassin’, but yes. ‘Murderer’ is also –technically- correct.” Battle nodded. He might have been paid to do it, but by the laws of the land, it was an unlawful killing. That made it murder. 

She was already dressed, but Mara’s arms went to cover her breasts and the juncture between her thighs again. As if to shield herself. “I can’t believe I slept with…”

“Mara, I-“ He what? What could Battle say to change her opinion of him back to what it was before he blurted out his terrible secret. How could he take it back? Make things like they were a few minutes before when she was eating his cum like delicious syrup on pancakes. 

“Why?” She demanded. “Why would you tell me this?”

“Because I-“ Battle found himself stumbling over the words. It was stupid. Insane. He’d only known her for three days. Less than three days. Today had just started. It was, like, two days and some miscellaneous hours. In truth, he didn’t know her at all. It was stupid for him to fall so hard. Battle just knew that he wanted her sassy attitude, naughty mind, and brazen boldness in his life. “-I… like you.”

“The hell kind of reason is that!?” Mara flew across the room to where she’d left her shoes by the door. Snatching them up, her hand went to the handle. 

Before he knew what he was doing, Battle had also crossed the room and slammed his body against the door to keep her from leaving. “Wait!”

Hazel eyes blazing, Mara glared at him. Hands still on fire, she lifted one arm and threw a ball of fight into his face. It burned his skin, catching his hair. Glass lenses and wire frames of his glasses melting in the blaze. With a yelp of pain, Battle patted himself down. Pounding on his head and hair to smother the flames. Mara used his distraction to escape. Abandoning the door as an exit, she flew out the open balcony instead. Flying out over the city and away from the supervillain’s lair. 

Running into the kitchen, Battle stuck his head under the sink and dowsed himself with water until the flames finally went out. 

His glasses were good and destroyed. But he felt the wounds healing already. His skin itched where it was knitting itself back together, repairing damage. But he stomped to the bathroom to get a look at the damage in the mirror anyway. 

Indeed, he had already started healing. Blackened skin peeling and falling off as fresh new pink tissue formed underneath, pushing it off. He watched the healing as if progressed. Muscles repairing themselves, skin forming over them. The only thing that didn’t reappear instantly was his hair. Hair and nails never regenerated like tissues or wounds. Hair and nails grew like an average person’s. 

Battle glared at his face. Smooth, clear skin. Not a single scar, never any scars. Blemish free. Handsome. But without beard, eyebrows, or hair. His reflection glared back at him balder than the day he was born. Damn if she didn’t know how to leave her mark on a man. Barron Battle would be thinking about Mara Peace for a long time to come. 

…

Mara was in tears when she came home. 

Through a side window, not the front door. 

Her mother, Olive-Blanch, the hero known as ‘Dove’, looked up from where she was washing dishes. She couldn’t say she was surprised. She knew that boy was trouble the moment her daughter flew up with him. Even if he wasn’t a clear-cut villain, even if he was just some denomination of ‘anti-hero’, anyone who took such a casual attitude towards killing was trouble. 

It was also impossible for her not to notice that Mara came home wearing her inappropriately revealing hero costume instead of the inappropriately revealing dress she originally left in. 

“Are you injured?” Blanch asked.

“No.” Mara sobbed, throwing her purse down on the couch before flying into her room and slamming the door. 

Mara threw herself on her bed dramatically. Curling her arms around her face, she sobbed into her pillow like a fucking Disney princess who’d just been told she couldn’t go to the ball and would never get her prince charming. 

She didn’t know what she was thinking when she decided to go out with him. She figured he wasn’t a true-hero, sure. Dressed in all black, with a bit of an attitude, and okay with killing. But he made a point of how many people the monsters’ deaths saved. Lives, businesses, homes, livelihoods, and families. Mara assumed he was an anti-hero. A super who made ethically questionable decisions, but –at their core- was a good person and did bad things that benefitted the Greater Good. Mara thought he was a good person. 

That, and she liked his broad shoulders with their sculpted muscles. She thought he looked good dressed in all that black leather, and she thought he looked good wearing nothing but that towel too. …and she thought he looked good wearing nothing at all. All sculpted muscle and dark body hair. Masculine and beastly. His own leather belt tying him to the bed. Leashed. He was attractive. Everything about Barron Battle was attractive. 

Up until he spontaneously –and without prompting- confessed to his own villainy. 

Mara didn’t even understand why!? 

Why he confessed. 

It wasn’t a lengthy bad guy speech. He wasn’t bragging about how clever he was, or how successful his recent murder was, or even how completely he managed to lure and seduce her! No. It was just ‘I’m this thing, look what I did’. Almost like… almost like he couldn’t keep it from her. Like he just needed her to know his deepest darkest secret for some reason. 

Stupid. 

It was stupid. 

He was stupid. Evil and stupid! 

Mara sobbed into her pillow. Barron Battle was evil and stupid! A supervillain! …and she still wanted to see him again. 

…

Battle had no idea what to do with himself after Mara flew out of the condo. 

He was uninjured, but left bald and hairless above the neck. With a kitchen full of uneaten pancakes, a mixing bowl of uncooked mix, and a counter littered with baking supplies. Whatever possessed him to try and impress her with his cooking. Cooking was messy and the clean-up took more time than the actual cooking itself. 

Setting to work, he threw out the short stack covered in his own jizz. No one was going to eat that! At the time, it was sexy. Now it was cold, crusty, and smelled bad. The uncooked batter, he poured into a container and put in the refrigerator. Maybe he’d cook it for himself later. Then he packed up the flour, butter, eggs, buttermilk, sugar, salt. Everything he used. Battle resealed and packed away in his pantries and cupboards. He washed and dried every dish, and wiped down and sanitized every surface. When it was done, his kitchen looked show-room clean. Like nobody had ever cooked in it before. 

Then he went back into the bedroom. 

Battle was thinking all he had to do was strip the sheets and wash the bedding and that would be the end of it. Mara Peace would be cleaned from his home and he could forget about her and move on. (Never mind that he still saw her wide –betrayed- hazel eyes whenever he closed his own.) But the moment he entered his bedroom, the first thing his gaze landed on was that coral pink dress crumpled on his floor. 

Kneeling down, Battle found himself lifting it up and pressing the fabric to his nose. Smelling her antiperspirant, or her body wash, maybe fragrance spray. Whatever scent had been on her body when she first put it on for their date the previous night. A fresh, clean scent. Like warm sunshine streaming in through an open window. Battle didn’t know how long he sat on his floor, doing nothing more than snorting the scent of her dress. But he didn’t stop until he heard the phone ring. 

Standing, he threw the garment on his bed. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with it yet. Throw it away, or wash it and mail it back to her, but he would deal with it later. Battle exited his bedroom to answer the insistent phone. There were only, like, six or seven people who called him. 

“Broker?” He took a guess, picking up the receiver. 

Neither a hero or a villain, Avraham Wechsler, a super known as the Broker, claimed to be a neutral party. Mundanes came to him with problems, and he put them in touch with supers that could help them. Supers with less impressive powers, and did not want to be Sidekicks came to him and he found jobs for them that fit their powers or talents. He brokered deals. He put Battle in contact with almost every one of his clients.

“Are you sure ‘psychic’ isn’t one of your powers, Pup.” Came the old man’s voice from the other end.

‘Pup’ had been the Broker’s nick name for Battle for about as long as they’d known each other. 

Since Battle was just seventeen. A dumb kid that had come down from the mountains, a community just outside Maxville city limits called Bedlam Unincorporated, and was living in a motel in South Side. Battle paid for his expenses with cash earned from selling his father’s trophies and artifacts. Unfortunately for Battle –or maybe it was fortunately- the pawn shop he used was also owned by the Broker and it was brought to the old man’s attention that some random kid was selling things that definitely belonged to the hero Paladin –whom had recently disappeared. The next time Battle tried to pawn some of his old man’s crap, two supers on the Broker’s payroll showed up and ‘invited’ him to the Broker’s club to meet the boss. 

Broker had been expecting them to bring him some small time thug that had just been lucky enough to stumble upon an evidence dump. Or maybe an irredeemable sociopath that couldn’t be worked with and had to be put down. Instead, the Broker saw an emotionally distraught and sullen child, trying to work through difficult adult emotions. Broker put Battle up in an apartment with a roommate who worked for him to keep an eye on the kid, and arranged small, easy, jobs that fit his skills on the weekends. He did not let Battle drop out of school. Battle was the Broker’s ‘ward’ for less than a year before he turned eighteen, but in those few months the old man was a better father to Battle than his own old man had ever been. 

“Not psychic.” Battle shook his head, knowing the other man couldn’t see the action. “I just keep a tight social circle.”

He regretted using the word ‘tight’. Mara’s body had been so tight. So small and compact. And the way she squeezed him… ngh… how had he managed to fit inside her at all last night! Battle was glad phones were not a visual medium. He felt his skin go hot and knew he was blushing. 

“And I’m always meaning to change that.” Broker informed him. “You remember my son, Fixer. Well, his wife’s sister just started her residency as Maxville General. She’s a doctor, Pup, and she’s single. I could have Fixer set you up. Just say the word!”

“With a super power like mine, I’m fairly certain a doctor is the last kinda woman I wanna be dating.” Battle informed him. There was a fine, fine line between ‘playing doctor’ and ‘playing mad scientist’. But he didn’t want to get pulled off into a tangent. He was fairly certain that Broker hadn’t called just to stick his nose in Battle’s dating life. “Why’d you really call, Ave?” 

The older man cleared his throat. “So, I know you just got back from a job. But seeing as how you refuse to make friends and have a life, I thought I’d offer you another mission. An important client’s got an interesting proposition and you’re the best Talent I’ve got.”

A new job was exactly what Battle needed right now. Something to take his mind off his disappointing morning and his own stupidity. Hopefully, this new job would take him out of the country and keep him away for a while. Something long, and difficult. Something that would push all other thoughts from his mind, and leave no room for thoughts of petite fire wielders and wide betrayed hazel eyes. 

“Set up the meet.” Battle nodded into the phone. 

It was nice that he could move on with his life so quickly and put the debacle of Mara Peace behind him. Then again, recovering quickly was his super power. 

…

Mara looked up Parazuela as soon as she was done crying. 

It was one of those countries a person knows about because it was a question on a middle school geography test, but was never really taught anything about the country. Like most of South America, Parazuela was colonized by the Spanish and gained its independence in 1810, the same year as Colombia and Mexico. A tiny, land-locked country, sandwiched between Ecuador and Peru. 

Since gaining its independence, the government had switched hands, and political philosophies, almost more times than the history books Mara found at her work could list. The most recent government, that of a fascist military state, was established in 1925 under the leadership of General Javier Llanos-Castillo. After his death, the seat of power was inherited by his second son Miguel Llanos-Castillo –the man Barron claimed to have murdered. 

That was about all the history books had on the country. 

The microfiche had a couple of stub articles from the back pages of old news papers. Political dissenters. Public executions. But nothing that left the country. Nothing that affected the rest of the world. Parazuela was not world news, and so there wasn’t much news about it. In fact, not counting that one TV story Barron had just been lucky enough to find on at the time, there wasn’t even much coverage of the assassination. Nobody even suspected outside involvement. Everyone was pointing fingers at every other group inside Parazuela, but nobody even turned an eye to foreign interests outside. The country was completely insulated, and news about it was completely insulated. 

Mara kept an eye on the news for new updates about it. There weren’t many. Nobody really seemed to care about the small land-locked country. 

After a few days, she started to lose interest and decided it would be best if she just put Barron Battle out of her mind. 

…

Battle had hoped another job would pushed Mara Peace out of his mind. But the job wasn’t a hit. There was no blood or violence involved. 

He sat in a –surprisingly comfortable- rolly chair in the research and development department of building owned by a computer and tech company. The company was actually Russian-owned, but the research building was in East Germany. (Hence, why his particular skill-set was required.)

Battle watched the status bar climb in percentages as he downloaded the desired files onto a series of floppy disks. When he heard he was going over the Wall, he thought the mission would be fun. Fast paced, and violent. But, so far, it was just one big snooze fest. It gave his mind time to wander. 

He wondered about Mara, Flamebird, and what she was doing. What kind of bad guys she was getting all hot and bothered back in Maxville. Did she ever operate outside of Maxville? Or was she a local ‘friendly neighborhood’ type of hero. Battle had never heard of her before she swooped down and plucked him out of the air, so she must not be a big time hero. Then again, 22 years old, she would have only been out of school for four years. How famous could a super get in four years?

Steve got famous the day after graduation. 

But that was because of his dad, not because Steve was actually a gifted hero. The Commander, son of the Admiral! The Stronghold Duo! Ugh. Just remembering watching Steve’s debut on the news made Battle wanna puke. Steve had no idea how fucking lucky he really was. To have grown up with a father who loved him, who encouraged him, who wanted him to succeed. Battle couldn’t even imagine his own father introducing him to the world after graduation, not even as a Sidekick, never mind an equal partner. 

Mara’s mother was Dove. A smalltime hero. She didn’t have big or flashy powers like the Commander or the Admiral. Even if Dove did introduce her daughter in some kind of official superhero debut, nobody would have really cared. Dove’s only big claim to fame was partnering up with Burnhawk, a member of the Society of Superheroes. Mara had Burnhawk’s fire powers and she wore his symbol on her chest, so it was fairly obvious that Burnhawk and Dove were more than just partners in costume. 

Let’s see… Mara was twenty-two, that meant she had to be, what, like sixteen when Burnhawk died. That was only a year younger than Battle was when he killed his own father (although, sometimes Battle did wonder just how ‘dead’ the old bastard really was, after all, Battle got his own powers from the old man and death didn’t stick on him). 

The computer beeped that the current floppy disc was full and Battle took it out and slid in the next blank one. Christ this was a lot of data! 

One of these days, one of those computer egg-heads was going to have to invent something to store a lot of data on that was more around the size of a thumb. A thumb drive. Or a memory stick. Something that could hold all the files Battle was stealing, but could also fit in his pocket. Battle was onto his fifth floppy disc now. There was no way he was going to fit a stack of five floppy discs in his pocket. 

If Mara was only sixteen when her father died, then she would have still been in school. Burnhawk would not have been around by the time she turned eighteen, graduated, and was able to be a hero. So, clearly, he did not give her an official media debut. Then again, maybe Mara hadn’t wanted an official debut. 

Big media debuts for superheroes were all about ego. At least, Steve Stronghold’s debut was all about ego. All flash and very little substance. Mara Peace did have her fair share of flash –by ‘flash’ Battle meant that round little ass of hers- she knew how to be eye-catching. But she also cared about the work. The hero work. She thought about ethics and morality, and the difficulty of making decisions that benefitted the greater good, even if the decision still required some unethical actions. She was not opposed to unorthodox approaches to heroism. But at her core, she was a good person and wanted to do good. 

Battle was not a good person. At least, by his own assessments, he was not a good person. He certainly didn’t care about doing good. The only person besides himself he ever cared about was his mother and after she passed away he didn’t care about anything –not even himself- for a long time. He never wanted to be a hero like his father, and later just never wanted to be a hero. He took any job that paid well regardless of whether it served a ‘greater purpose’, or was just a series of evil deeds. 

He assassinated world leaders. Stole missile codes. Planted evidence. Started wars. Barron Battle was a bad man. Mara was smart to fly out on him. He could only break her heart. 

The computer beeped that the download was complete. 

Battle had a stack of six floppy discs in total. Jesus Christ. Someone needed to get on inventing a smaller data storage device, and do it fast. The business of international espionage wouldn’t last long if agents were trying to sneak about with plastic bricks like this in their pockets! 

His contact was on the other side of the Wall in West Berlin. Battle was supposed to make the delivery to him, and recive his payment. 

Was it wrong that Battle was low-key hoping for a double cross? This job had been so boring so far. He’d spent far too much time thinking about a certain fiery red-head than he wanted to, and didn’t get to beat the shit out of anybody who deserved it. Was this what it meant when normal people described their jobs as ‘another boring day at the office’? A boring night in East Berlin. 

He did get to knock out guards when he crossed over the Wall –on both sides- so, that was nice. But Battle would hardly call that ‘action’. 

He met the contact at the agreed upon place. 

“Gawd damn! You’re a tall one!” Battle couldn’t help but exclaim when he met the contact. Battle was six-two, he was by no means ‘short’. In fact, he was considered ‘above average’ height. But if Battle was ‘above average’ then this guy was a fucking giant! “What do they call you, Big Guy?”

“Titan.” Said the contact in an American accents. “You’re Battle?” The giant’s eyes swept him down, and down. Taking in the black on black leather costume, the steel studs, the buckles… and his utter and complete lack of hair on his face. “You look more like American Alien’s old arch nemesis –Alexander.”

A famously bald villain. 

Battle ran a hand over his scalp. He could feel tiny little prickles of his hair growing back. Give it another day or two and his hair would be visible again. But in the dark of their meeting place, Titan wouldn’t see it. “Ran a fowl of a fire super.”

Titan snorted. “You’re lucky all he did was stop at your hair instead of burn your face off.” Oh, if Titan only knew that Mara had burred his face off, he just healed miraculously fast. “Fire is the element of emotion. Their moods run hot. A buddy of mine ran a fowl of a fire user once, now half his arms gonna look like holiday ham for the rest of his life. Why do you think there’s that saying ‘don’t play with fire’.” 

‘If you play with fire, you’re going to get burned,’ was the actual saying. 

“Anyway, you got my money?” Battle decided it was time to get back to business. This whole trip had been boring beyond words so far, and he was still sorta still hoping for a double cross so that he could at least get in a decent fight before he flew back to the states. 

Titan held out an innocuous black briefcase. The thing looked like a matchbook in his massive hand. Opening it, the larger man showed Battle stacks of bundled $100 bills, all arranged in neat rows. Snapping the case shut again, Titan passed it to Battle. Battle passed him a manila envelope containing the six floppy discs. Titan opened the envelope and examined the discs, while Battle counted the bundles of cash. Everything was all there. It was American currency. Non-sequential numbers. Unmarked bills. This job had gone perfectly and without a hitch. 

Battle was so disappointed!

“Pleasure doing business with you.” He growled, taking his money and leaving. 

“Your country thanks you for your service.” Titan muttered at his retreating back. 

“Eat my ass!” Battle shouted back. 

…

Following the death of the General in Parazuela, civil war broke out in the country. At first nobody really cared. It was a small war, in a small country, with no major exports. News of the war was just a small stub article that Mara only caught because she was stocking the morning newspapers in the library’s entrance way. The article itself was barley three paragraphs, but she reread it six times just to make sure she caught everything. She hadn’t thought of Barron Battle in weeks. But suddenly, he was at the forefront of her mind. 

She thought about Barron while at work, checking in books and reshelving them. 

She thought about Barron while doing her hero thing. Putting out fires and saving people. 

She thought about Barron while she was on dates with other men, and was startled to realize that she was comparing other men to him now. What they thought about her ethics questions. How they responded to her taking control in the bedroom. Dick size, of course. If they could cook. Mara never realized how few men in this super-overrun city couldn’t cook for themselves. How the hell does a person live alone and not know how to feed themselves? What kind of grown-ups were these? Barron not only cooked, but his cooking was actually pretty good! 

It wasn’t fair. No supervillain had any business being so perfect. It just pissed Mara off!

Some time after the news story of the civil war broke, it did start to affect other countries. Fighting close to the borders of Ecuador and Peru became a danger to civilians and tourists. Suddenly, other countries had a reason to care about what happened in the tiny land locked country of Parazuela. The news began to cover it more diligently. 

Mara ate up every printed article and scrutinized every televised news story. She didn’t know why she was so fixated on this. She was sure Barron did other things –worse things?- both before and, by this point, after his murder in Parazuela. But this was the one she knew about. This was the one she could irrefutably connect to him. 

As far as she was concerned, Barron Battle was responsible for whatever happened to that small country. 

…

Back state-side, Battle swung by Divide to pay Broker his commission for fixing the job before he headed home. 

Divide was a local bar and club in Downtown. It was only three blocks from the Spear where Battle lived. He could walk home. In addition to being a dance club and bar, Divide had one other claim to fame. It was a meeting place for the super community. It was owned and operated by the Broker, and was where the vast majority of the old man’s deals took place. 

There was a line outside the door. Being a hangout for supers, there was never a shortage of mundanes willing to climb over each other to get in and rub elbows with the heroes. Some might even harbor fantasies of bumping into the Commander. Their eyes meeting from across the crowded room just as the music changes to some slow romantic ballad. Battle rolled his eyes. Super-mundane relationships –overall- did tend to be more common than super-super relationships. But only because there were far more mundanes in the world than there were supers. That didn’t mean that the Commander danced with every mundane that ever met his eyes. 

(Besides, Battle was fairly certain Steve had never been inside Divide in his life.)

Battle recognized the bouncer. A neutral super on the Broker’s payroll who went by the name Gate. 

Gate recognized Battle too and gave him a nod to go in. Placing one hand on the bare brick wall next to the door, the bricks and insulation curled and folded away to create a second –temporary- entrance for him to pass through. That was Gate’s power. He could make a hole wherever he needed. A power that could be utterly devastating to the human body if he ever decided to pick a side and be a villain. Gate closed the wall back up after Battle passed through, returning it to the exact same condition it was in before he opened it up. Clean and airtight. An amazing power that could save countless lives if Gate ever decided to pick a side and become a hero. 

Inside Divide, Battle went straight for the stairs. Up to the lounge. Pass the lounge. Down a hallway. Past the second floor bathrooms. To a door at the end of the hall with a sign that read ‘Staff Only’ in large letters of a clear font even the bleariest of drunks should be able to read. 

Ignoring the sign, Battle went right in. 

Beyond the door was a small office. Cramped. With a wall of file cabinets taking up one wall. A large man-sized safe in on corner. A second man-sized safe right next to it. No windows. And the majority of the center of the room was taken up by a desk and two chairs.

Sitting at the desk was an old man. Pepper-gray hair curled in front of the ears, a hat covering the rest of it. For as long as Battle had known Avraham Wechsler –which, admittedly was only eight years- he did not have a single memory of seeing the old man without something covering his head. It was getting to the point now where Battle was starting to wonder if he even had a head under there. 

Ave looked up from the open ledger and calculator he was bent over. He looked up and for half a second didn’t recognize battle with all his hair and eyebrows gone. “Damn, Pup! What the hell happened to you!? Well, come in and shut the door! You’re letting in all that noise you young people have the chutzpah call ‘music’.”

Battle did. Shutting the door behind him, he sat in a chair in front of the Ave’s desk. 

The old man put away the accounts he was going over and stowed them in a desk drawer. Taking out in its place a bottle of brandy and two glasses. Pouring only a little bit for himself and Battle. 

“Job was interesting I take it.” Said the Broker, nodding to Battle’s new look. 

“I just came by to drop off your ten percent.” Battle told him, ignoring the unasked question of why he had no hair. He picked up the offered glass of brandy and sipped it politely. Alcohol didn’t affect Battle. He recovered too quickly to ever feel the affects everyone else seemed so fond of. As a result, he never had a reason to acquire the taste. But Ave had already poured it for him, and it was supposed to be very classy stuff. So, Battle made an effort to appreciate it. “Are there any other clients that might have some dirty business that needs doing?”

The Broker looked at him from over the rim of his own glass, raising one pepper-gray eyebrow. “You got debts I don’t know about all of a sudden?” He asked. “Three jobs in one month is a lot –even for you.”

“No, it’s not.” Battle lied. In all the time Broker had been finding clients for him, Battle rarely took more than once a month. The money was good enough that he didn’t need more. If he took a second in the same month, it was because the money was too good, or he had a special interest in the job… or he was trying to distract from something uncomfortable and emotional by throwing himself into the distraction of work.  
The Broker continued to study the younger man. He hadn’t known Battle for very long. Not in the grand scheme of things. Less than a decade, really. But to spite that short time, Ave liked to think he knew Barron Battle rather well. The Broker was an empath –of a sort- that was his power. He could touch a person, or meet their eyes and see into them. Their wants and desires. Hopes and dreams. Anxieties and fears. Pasts and traumas. What made a person who they were. If they were tough and resilient. Or if they were meek and wilting. If they had the steel in their core of cores. Or if they were no more substantial than straw.  
This was how the Broker matched supers with jobs that fit them. It was how Ave chose what clients to introduce Battle to. And it was how he knew that the angry and rude little teenager that was brought to him was neither a small-time thug or an irredeemable sociopath, but a lost and abused child that just needed someone to care about him and a gentle hand to guide him.  
“Don’t give me that look, Ave.” Battle growled. He knew Broker wasn’t using his power on him yet. It was very obvious when Avraham Wechsler used his power. It changed his eyes. Made them go all creepy. When the Broker was looking into you, you knew.

“Are you alright?” Asked the older man.

“I’m fine.” Battle assured him. 

The Broker leaned back in his chair. “Okay, we’re gonna skip right over this dance where I point out that you’re clearly not fine, and you continue to deny it, and I point out that you must have gotten injured pretty bad to be looking like American Alien’s old nemesis, and so on. So, let’s just cut to the end and you tell me what you’re running from.”

One of these days, Battle was going to either figure out how to lie to Ave, or else learn to just stop trying to lie to the Broker. Ave knew his power, and how it worked. Wounds healed almost instantly, but hair and finger nails took just as long as any normal person. Battle liked to keep his hair somewhat long –for a man- so for him to show up bald and hairless meant that he was injured in some dramatic way. 

“It’s not a big deal.” Battle insisted. “I just- I invited a woman over to my place and got burned.” 

Literally. 

Ave was silent for one… two… three beats, and Battle thought the old man was just gonna leave it at that. Accept the explanation as it was. It was –technically- the truth, after all. Then the Broker’s hand lanced across the desk and grabbed Battle by the wrist, spilling brandy from the glass he held. The old man leaned far over the desk, staring into Battle’s eyes. His own irises dilating so large there was almost no color left in them. Just one large, black pupil filling the space. Battle stared into that darkness and knew that the darkness had already started staring into him. 

When the Broker finally let go, he flopped backwards into his own seat and laughed. Really laughed. Eyes pinched shut. Smiling to his eyebrows. Hugging his sides. Laughing. Hard. 

Battle felt like he should be insulted, but he wasn’t quite sure over what. What was so fucking funny?

“I never thought I’d see the day!” The old man snorted. “Who would have thought that angry little punk I took in would be in love!” He laughed so hard he needed to wet his throat before he could continue. Downing what was in his brandy glass in one swallow. “But she doesn’t love you back, so now you wanna throw yourself back into your work hoping that will consume you instead.”

Battle hated empaths. They got all of the facts, but none of the details. 

Ave just continued to laugh. 

“You got burned.” Repeated the old man, eyes darting back up to note Battle’s lack of hair. “Did you mean that literally? Is she a super? Some hot villainess that doesn’t care for the word ‘love’.”

He laughed some more. 

“She’s a hero.” Battle deadpanned. 

He was not in the habit of discussing his personal affairs. But Ave was different. The Broker already knew his deepest, darkest personal secrets. The Broker was there just after Battle committed them. Ave picked up the pieces of that angry and distraught child, and put him back together as something that resembled Barron Battle. Battle wouldn’t be the person he was today if not for the Broker’s intervention. He could confide in Ave –if only a little. 

The Broker stopped laughing. 

“You. Took a hero. Home with you.” He did not believe it. “Is she… harmed?” 

“No.” And there was venom in that single growled word. “I don’t hurt women. I’m not my father.”

Battle would never be his father. He would never be like that man in any way. He swore it the day his mother died. He swore it on her grave that hadn’t even been prepared yet. He swore it over her still warm body as the medical examiner ruled it an ‘accidental death’. Glaring silent rage, and impotent murder into his father’s eyes as his old man explained to the police that she just ‘tripped’ from the top of the stairs. Battle swore that he would never be like him. 

Slumping in his seat, Ave poured himself another glass of brandy –more brandy this time. He took a sip. Then another. “You hate heroes.”

“I hated my father.” Battle corrected him. “Heroes in general, I just… strongly dislike.” 

“Except for the one you’re in love with.” He took another sip of brandy. Then gave another laugh. This one, less humor, more dark irony. 

“I kinda hate her a little bit too.” Confessed the younger man. But it was said in a tone that was more ‘affectionate joking’. 

“And yet-“ Ave refilled his brandy glass, “-I bet, if she walked into the Spear’s lobby and asked to see you, you’d buzz her up right away.”

Now it was Battle’s turn to laugh. A short little clip of humor, followed by an affectionate smile as he spoke. “Naw. Knowing her, she’s fly up to my balcony and kick her way in.” 

“Ah, more of an action girl, eh.” The older man smiled. “I remember when I was younger, there was this spunky little thing that I was into. Could pass through walls. Nothing stopped her!” He grinned at some long ago and far away memory. Then he paused, Battle’s words catching up to him. The old man sat up, blinking. “Wait, fire and flight? You’re not talking about Burnhawk’s girl are you? Flamebird? You’re in love with Flamebird!”

“You know her?” Battle had known Ave for just short of a decade and he had never heard the old man mention her once. Neither had he seen her around the club ever. Battle definitely, definitely would have remembered that ass walking in or out. 

The Broker shook his head. “Never met the girl. But I used to know her father. Chiam Cohen. We went to the same shul until he met that shiksa and got married. He took her name, ya know. Peace. I guess that makes sense. Chiam always was a pure-hero, even when we were kids. What hero wouldn’t gnaw their own arm off for their legal name to be ‘Peace’?” 

Battle couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at his lips. “Mara is lots of things, but ‘pure’ is not one of them.”


	4. Getting Back on Track

Blood spattered over the walls when Battle cut the target’s jugular vein. He used a nail file he found when he came in through the bathroom window. That was Battle’s standard modus operandi. Find a weapon at the scene, wipe it clean afterwards. Leave it at the scene. Don’t carry your own weapons. You can’t take weapons on an airplane. You don’t want to be caught with weapons at a border crossing. Don’t keep weapons. 

Locate the target. Assesse the scene. Find a suitable weapon –anything could be a weapon. Eliminate the target. Wipe and drop the weapon. Leave. 

When Battle pulled the job in Parazuela he used the General’s own letter opener. When he assassinated the legitimate son of Prince Kashnan of Ajarakh, he used a sewing pin left in a coat that was being mended. When he took out Lord Fitzwilliam of Walenshire he used a wire from the lord’s own piano. 

Anything could be a weapon if used right. The human body was relatively soft. It took less than a pound of pressure to break skin. Veins and arteries were not buried all that deep. A letter opener could cut a throat. A needle in an eye-socket could puncture the ophthalmic artery. Piano wire would not only strangle a target, but cut into their neck as well. 

His latest target laying at his feet, blood draining out of him more slowly as each beat of the heart grew weaker and weaker, Battle wiped his fingerprints off the nail file and dropped it on the floor next to the body. Stepping over the corpse, he was careful not to step in any of the blood, lest he leave a trail of footprints. Battle left the scene, cool and calm as if he were just taking an evening stroll. Just another American tourist enjoying his night on the town. 

…

Flamebird saw the smoke before the actual fire. A dark plume rising up from the slums of South Side. Emergency responses were always slow in South Side. Cops didn’t like to respond to calls there, and when they did, kids and already hand-cuffed men got hospitalized. Paramedics didn’t like to respond to calls because cops didn’t always arrive in time to protect them. Fire fighters didn’t like to respond to calls there because paramedics were slow to arrive with meaningful haste to help them. Flamebird was first on the scene of the fire. 

A low income apartment building. Old construction. Wood frame. Dry wall. Stucco. A false brick façade in front. It was sandwiched between two other buildings. Equally old and from a similar wood construction. Already the fire was threatening to spread to the surrounding buildings. …and inside all of them Flamebird heard people shouting. 

Parents calling for their children. Or for their spouses to find the children. Children crying for their parents. Other’s unattached looking for pets before they ran out of the burning building. 

Flying down, Mara landed on the roof, and felt the surface paneling bend under her weight. The fire had already eaten enough to weaken the supports. She glanced over the side of the building. On one side, it was pressed right up next to the building next to it. On the other side there was a narrow ally. Very narrow. Now wide enough for them to have put in a fire escape –even though they were mandated by the city. That meant that the only escape for the people inside would be the interior stairs. Or perhaps windows if they were on the first or second floors. At a height an average mundane could jump from and not be too injured. 

Before Mara entered the building, she placed a hand on the roof access door. Sensing the burning on the other side. Reaching out to it with her power. Reading it. Gauging if she was going to just feed it more oxygen if she opened the door and made things worse, or if she could enter the building and start evacuating the people. Fire didn’t hurt her. She was fire, fire made flesh. But if she made the fire stronger with thoughtless action, other people would get hurt –and hurt needlessly. 

Below her, she heard a window shatter as someone threw something out of it. The room flooded with fresh air, pumping in oxygen, stoking the fires, and Flamebird felt the flames grow stronger. Well, fucking okay then! If they were gonna kill themselves trying to escape! 

Wrenching the door open, Flamebird flew down the stairwell. 

Fire was the element of emotion –of passion. It was energy. Destructive and hot. It could be smothered, but embers could still smolder under the surface, just waiting to spring back to life and sear the uncautious. It was better to give it an outlet. 

Reaching out with her power, Flamebird grabbed hold of the existing fire in the stairwell. Taking control of it. Making it her own. She pulled the fire up and out. Twisting it around her body before throwing her arms up and sending it out through the open roof access door. A pillar of orange flame above the building. The rest of the building was still on fire, but the stairs were clear. 

People were already running down. Carrying children or younger siblings in their arms. Beloved pets, or personal possessions of significant value. They might have glanced at Famebird as they passed, if only to note that there was a superhero in their building. But no one stopped to thank her. They had larger concerns. 

She went from floor to floor, apartment to apartment. Checking to make sure everyone was out. Putting a hand to each door before she opened it. Feeling the mood of the flames in the rooms beyond to make sure not to cause a backdraft and make things worse. 

Flamebird could hear fire engines outside now. They certainly took their dear sweet time! She scooped children up and flew them down to the rescue services. Then darted back inside to make sure everyone got out. No one was left behind. 

The fire fighters finally got their hoses down and were dowsing the building and the two next to it that were just starting to catch. She helped in the only other way she could. Grabbing old of the hissing angry flames with her pyrokinisis, taking control of it, and pulling the fire off the building. Sending it up, into the air. Away from the building, the street, and the people. When the fire was gone, the apartment was just a blackened frame. The skeleton of a building. The two on either side, singed and blacked on their outer walls, but otherwise unharmed. 

Floating down, Flamebird sat on the top of one of the fire trucks, one bare leg crossed over the other. 

Paramedics pulled away, taking the burned and injured to the hospitals. But as far as Mara could tell, not a single living soul had been killed. A job well done. A good day for her. 

Flamebird observed the fire fighters hold oxygen masks to people’s face, and the police take statements. Someone from the Fire Marshal’s office would eventually arrive to assess the cause. Mara watched all this happen, and all she could think of was what constituted a ‘good day’ for Barron Battle. What did he consider ‘a job well done’? A murder accomplished with no blood and no witnesses? Monster. 

Why was she still thinking about him. 

“Hey!” Someone was shouting at her. Flamebird looked down to see one of the fire fighters flagging her down. “Cops want your statement too, Hero!”

“Flamebird.” She corrected him. Sure, she wasn’t as popular as the Commander. But that didn’t mean she had to answer to just ‘Hero’. 

She gave her stamen to the police. They had a separate form for hero statements than average citizens. Heroes were not required to fill in a name, or give addresses, or contact information. For a signature, either their hero name, or just a doodle of their symbol was accepted. These statements were still considered legal documents so long as they were witnessed by two other people not from the same present as the police officer taking the statement. A fire fighter and one of the people Flamebird saved offered to witness the statement for her. 

After that, the fire fighters wanted a picture with her. 

They all posed in front of their truck, Flamebird in the middle. She stuck a pose. Turning to the side so that the camera could capture the curve of her backside, and she arched her back to make her butt stick out more. She’d never be a very memorable hero if people didn’t have reason to notice her. Mara wasn’t gifted with versatile powers like super-strength or super-sonic flight. But she was gifted with a pretty face, a petite body, and wide round hips that made her ass look big and her waist look small. She could work with that. 

After the photo the fire marshal came up to Flamebird to inform her that she fire was most likely a simple accident, no arson or malicious intent. The smoke detector at the point of origin was out of batteries. Every so often, they made public service TV spots about the importance of fire safety. The were no longer than commercials, and usually ran on prime time when most people were home. As a fire wielder, would she be willing to appear on their next PSA? As a hero –and his eyes swept her figure when he said ‘hero’, it was not the actual reason he was thinking- would she be willing to appear on the spot. 

Preventative measures weren’t as exciting or glamorous as diving into the thick of things, but they did help a greater number of people in the long run. So, Flamebird agreed. She could work with the Fire Marshal’s office to film a couple of PSA TV spots. 

…

Battle walked into the lobby of the Spear, pulling his carry-on behind him, a briefcase full of money in his other hand. 

It was a spacious lobby. With tall cathedral windows going all the way up to the ceiling. They allowed the light to pour in, flooding the space with natural light and making the room feel open. There was a receptionist desk to one side where guests could ask to be buzzed up, a security booth on the opposite wall where guards waited incase residents required their guests to be removed, and a comfortable little lounge area in the middle. Furnished with modern chairs, upholstered in vinyl of a seafoam green, pink, and yellow pattern. 

Battle usually ignored all this as he passed through the lobby on his way to the elevators. 

But this time he paused. Someone’s guest was waiting in one of those absurd seafoam green and pink chairs, reading a news paper. Battle didn’t care about the person, it was the paper he was looking at. The headline declaring ‘Local Fire Men Helped by Girl-Hero’. Battle suppressed the urge to scoff. He was one-hundred percent sure that the fire fighters did little more than stand and watch. That wasn’t what made him pause. It was the photo that went along with the headline he was staring at. 

Flamebird. 

Mara Peace. 

She was posing with about ten other guys, all in fire fighter bunk gear. Flamebird in front, her body turned to the side sticking her ass out so that the camera caught just how pert, and round, and perfectly shaped it really was. 

Without even making the conscious decision to, Battle marched up to the lounge and snatched the page out of the newspaper. 

“Hey!” Shouted the person reading it. 

But Battle was already marching away again, the elevator doors closing behind him. 

As the elevator car climbed the floors, Battle skimmed the article. Apparently, it was a fire in a tenement building in South Side. Local fire fighters were slow to respond –what a surprise- and Flamebird was first on the scene. She redirected the fire and kept it controlled –kept it from spreading- and helped the residents evacuate with minimal injuries and no casualties. Reading the article, Battle couldn’t quite figure out why the editor had titled it ‘girl-hero helped fire men’, it should have been ‘city’s fire men sat on their asses and did nothing while lone woman saves entire building’. But whatever. Not his problem. 

The elevator dinged, opening up on Battle’s floor. 

A short walk and a turn of a key and he was back home. 

Dragging his carry-on into the bedroom, he threw the suitcase on the bed to unpack later. Instead, opening up his briefcase of payment for his most recent job and began dividing it up. Some would go in the locker in the back of his closet, some would go in the wall safe in the living room, some would go into a safety deposit box in Maxville Mutual, a small –very small- portion of the cash would go into a perfectly legitimate bank account to be claimed on his taxes. (No supervillain wanted to be the one that was taken down by the IRS!) 

Money squared away, Battle went back out into the living room and flopped down on the couch. He kicked off his shoes and picked up the newspaper page with Flamebird’s picture.

Smiling at the camera. Lips painted a provocative shade of red. The upper half of her face was covered by her mask, but Battle imagined those hazel eyes twinkling impishly. She knew how hot she was, and what striking a pose like that would do to a man. Back arched in a nice curve. Leading down to the swell of her supple, pert, perky, tight, round ass. Olive cheeks hanging out of the fabric of her costume. On display for everyone to see. 

The image she projected was that of an attractive hero. Hot and sexy. But the picture didn’t do her justice. 

A picture couldn’t show how intelligent she was. How she thought about things. Debated with herself about ethics and morality, what made a decision moral if not ethical. The difference between ethics and morality. How the results of an action affected the morality of that action. How the motivations of an action affected the ethics of the action. A photo could not ask you questions and debate the nature of good and evil. 

That was probably the thing Battle missed most about her. 

Not her pert round ass –that he still wanted to fuck- not that sultry little mouth with its teasing smirk, and not that bald tight pussy that squeezed him like it was sucking him in. No. 

What Battle enjoyed most about their date, what he missed most about Mara Peace, was her conversation. He wanted her to ask him more questions about philosophy. About what made a hero a hero. About the long-term consequences of heroic deeds. Property damage, social discriminations, higher taxes. These were things they didn’t teach about at Sky High. These were things most heroes didn’t think about. But Flamebird thought about them. Mara Peace thought about them. She thought about how heroes caused damage. How heroes did harm. 

That was something Battle was familiar with. He knew how heroes could do harm. He wanted to tell her he understood. He knew what she was talking about. Heroes broke things. Battle didn’t think… he didn’t think he could actually tell her about it. He preferred not to talk about Paladin. But he at least wanted her to know that he understood. 

Battle wished he could see her again. 

It had been a little over a month since she threw a fire ball in his face and flew off his balcony. His hair was growing back nicely. Eyebrows were back to normal. Hair still short. Dark curls covering his scalp, but not anything so thick and long that a person could run their fingers through it. Battle liked it when Mara had pulled his hair. 

She was so assertive and demanding. She knew what she wanted. He met so few women who knew what they wanted –or, he met so few women who felt comfortable enough asserting what they wanted. Mara was unique. Singular. 

And she didn’t put up with any bullshit from him either. The moment he did something she didn’t like, she protected herself. The moment he confessed to being a supervillain and that she was naked and vulnerable in his ‘lair’, she found her costume and put some clothes on. She tried to leave immediately. When he blocked her first choice of exit (an action he was disgusted to admit was something his father would have done), she defended herself, shooting fire in his face and burning his skin off. Mara did not allow herself to he held prisoner. Mara did not allow herself to be manipulated. Mara did not allow him to have any power over her. 

She was kinda what he wished his mother could have been in that respect. Maybe if his mother hadn’t put up with all his father’s abuses she’d still be alive right now and Battle would be a very different person. 

Battle liked that Mara did not put up with him. The moment he did something she didn’t like… the moment she felt threatened, she left. Defended herself, and left. 

That was her most attractive quality. 

Even better than that perky round ass of hers. 

…

Mara still followed the civil war in Parazuela. 

The news was actually covering it for real now. Not just when the fighting spilled over the borders into neighboring countries. It wasn’t just angry citizen rioting in the streets. It was an actual revolution. The people were fighting to take control of their country. 

Did Barron know when he murdered the General that he was starting a revolution? Did he know when he took the commission in the first place that he would be starting a revolution? 

He said he was a supervillain. 

By all base and surface assessments, that was true. He killed people. He took human life. He murdered leaders and started wars. Those deeds were evil. The actions of a villain. 

But, those actions were also the spark that started a revolution. The opening that gave the people the opportunity to take back the homes and country that should have always been thiers. Those were the outcomes of a hero. 

Barron said he was a supervillain. But what if he wasn’t. What if he was actually an anti-hero instead? 

Mara thought he might be an anti-hero the day she met him. When he killed a monster, but saved the city. Evil deed, good result. The action of an anti-hero. Barron called himself a villain, but what a person calls themselves and what they actually are might not always be the same thing. 

…

There was another line outside Divide when Battle walked up. There was always a line in front of Divide. Everyone wanted to dance with a super. But out of costume there was no way to know if the super you were gyrating up against was a hero or a villain. The line usually blocked the main entrance. That was why Gate opened up a door in the wall for regulars like Battle to enter without having to squeeze by the line. 

It was Friday night. Ugh. Why did he come here on a Friday?

The club was packed, the dance floor was full, the bar was crowded, and –glancing up to the second floor landing- the best table in the lounge was already taken. Battle leaned against the bar wondering if he really wanted another mission bad enough to weave his way through the crow to get up to Ave’s office, or if he should just go home. Wait out the weekend until Monday. Divide was –comparatively- dead on Mondays. It wasn’t like he was hurting for cash. Battle just needed something to do. 

“Oh, hey! Never thought I’d see you just hanging out!” 

Battle turned from where he was assessing the crowd to the bartender. “Fixer! He’s got you working the bar?”

“My eldest’s bat mitzvah is coming up.” The other man said by way of explanation. “Abba says he’ll help with expenses, but I have to pay for the majority of it myself. So, if I need a little extra cash, the club could always use an extra bartender Fridays and Saturdays. So here I am!” Fixer grabbed a glass jar that had the word ‘Tips’ painted across it in juvenile puffy paint. Almost as if Fixer had gotten one of his kids to do it for him –which he probably had. “I’m skipping shabbat for this, so pony up!”

“You haven’t even served me a drink yet.” Battle pointed out. 

“Yeah, but you don’t drink.” Fixer seemed unimpressed. “Or was all that bragging that alcohol doesn’t affect you just hot air.”

Battle shook his head. “I recover too fast to feel it.”

His power cleansed his body to toxins, and alcohol was –technically- a poison. Coke and heroine didn’t do anything for him either. Neither did caffeine for that matter. Or Tylenol. Or Benadryl. Barron Battle was lucky he never got headaches, allergies, or colds. Drugs never worked for him because of his stupid power. He had to find other ways to have fun. Sex and violence were his standard go-tos. 

But he hadn’t had sex since getting burned by Mara Peace, and violence was starting to feel dull, repetitive, and empty. At least, his last few jobs were disappointingly easy. Bloody, yes. But not exciting. 

Fixer pulled a bottle out from under the bar and filled a glass half-way with some amber liquid. He pushed it to Battle. “Here. Apple juice.”

Taking it slowly, almost suspiciously, Battle raised the cup to his lips. As the other man said, it was apple juice. He took a second, larger, sip. 

Fixer drifted away. Sliding along the length of the bar, collecting empty glasses, refilling drinks, adding tallies to tabs. Battle made sure the other man wasn’t looking when he wadded up a $100 bill and dropped it in the tip jar, patting it down so that it was buried and hidden under all the one dollar bills. It was funny, if it was Fixer’s youngest kid he needed to pay for, there wasn’t a doubt in Battle’s mind that Ave would pay all costs in full. Little Rivkah was only three, but already her grandfather’s favorite –and while it was too soon to tell for sure, Ave and Fixer were both pretty sure she’d get the Broker’s full power. Not just the fraction of it that Fixer got. 

Finishing his apple juice, Battle pushed off the bar and braved the crowd, making his way to the stairs. 

He didn’t make it there, though. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he caught a glimpse of red hair and bare shoulders. Battle suddenly found himself cutting through the crowd towards her. Red hair. Bare shoulders. Jumping and swaying on the dance floor. He couldn’t see her face. She would turn her head and her hair would be in the way. Some gyrating idiot would get in the way blocking his view. 

Finally, Battle made it to the center of the dance floor. His body almost colliding with hers. 

“Oh! Excuse me.” She apologized when he almost barreled into her. 

She wasn’t Mara Peace. 

The red hair wasn’t the same shade of red, and it was longer. The bare skin of her shoulders was paler, more porcelain than olive, and dotted all over with freckles. She was taller than Mara. Still slender, but her hips weren’t as wide, her ass flatter and less impressive. 

“Enjoy your night.” Battle exited the dance floor just as quickly as he’d charged onto it. 

He glanced back to the stairs that led up to the second floor. But, no, he wasn’t in the mood for a job anymore. Besides, he forgot. Broker didn’t work Friday nights or Saturdays. Ave wouldn’t be around to give him a new mission anyway. 

For half a second Battle thought Mara had come to Divide. That she had come to his territory. Was having a good time and enjoying herself just three blocks down from where he lived. Now all he wanted to do was see her again. Even if it was just to get shot in the face with more fire. 

He wanted to see her. 

…And when he got home, he did. 

Turning on the TV, Battle flipped through the channels, not really paying attention to what he was actually seeing. Until Flamebird’s tight round ass flashed across the screen. He clicked back to the channel as quickly as he could. 

It looked like the second half of a commercial. No. Not a commercial. One of those cheesy public service announcements. This one about fire safety. Don’t leave lit candles unattended. Always put out your cigarettes. Don’t over-stuff electrical outlets. Keep flammables like blankets or posters away from heaters and vents. Don’t douse grease fires with water, smother them instead. And always make sure your home had a smoke detector in every room. Make sure they had new batteries, and they worked. 

Through the whole thing, there was Mara Peace, dressed in her Flamebird costume. Lighting her arms on fire. Posing for the camera. Making sure they captured every curve of that delicious figure of hers. 

The whole thing was only two minutes long. But it was the best two minutes of TV Battle had seen all year. 

He just wished they showed how intelligent she was, instead of just using her as some hot piece of eye-candy to keep people watching while the rest of the commercial got its message across. 

Mara Peace was more than just eye-candy. 

He needed a new mission. It was months since Battle had seen Mara by this point and he was still thinking about her. He needed to get back out of the city again. 

…

The war in Parazuela lasted only a few short months before the remnants of the late General’s regime were overcome by the rebels. They were more preoccupied fighting amongst themselves, each trying to fill the void left by the General’s death and seize power. All the in-fighting weakened control of their own military, many of their own soldiers abandoning the unstable government in favor of taking back the country along side the rebel faction. 

It was three months after Battle confessed he was a supervillain to Mara, and Parazuela was back in the hands of its own people for the first time since the country gained its independence from Spain back in 1810. 

It took the country another three months for the rebel leaders to get themselves in order and actually organize open elections. When that news broke, Mara found herself flying to the Spear to speak to Barron Battle. Did he know his murder would allow an oppressed people to take back their country? Was that the endgame all along? Was that his plan? Was he really a good person that just didn’t understand the intricacies between supervillain and anti-hero because they didn’t teach such things at Sky High?

The balcony door was closed when she flew up. 

Mara tapped on the glass. But there was no answer. 

She flew to the side, peering in the windows. The bed was made and looked like it hadn’t been slept in. On the other side, the kitchen looked clean as if no one ever cooked in it. Everything was so spotless –sterile- not even artwork on the walls or family photos on the surfaces. She never noticed that when he brought her home with him on their date. There wasn’t anything personal in Barron Battle’s condo. More like a place where a person slept, but didn’t really live. 

In any event, he clearly wasn’t home. 

Mara flew away. She would try again later. He said that he toppled governments. That meant his villain or anti-hero work took him out of town a lot. He was probably out on another job. That implied he was killing another person. But then, if said person was another despot, was that really so evil? Mara would ask him about it if she ever caught him at home and he was willing to speak to her. 

…

Battle was selected for a random bag check at the airport. 

This was one of the reasons he never carried his own weapons. 

He yawned, feigning boredom as airport security unzipped his carry-on. They shifted through neatly folded shits and slacks, ruining his near immaculate packing job, and paused when they pulled out his costume. Black leather. Metal studs. Buckles and straps. The poor security guard had no idea what he was looking at. He glanced up at Battle questioningly. 

“What?” Battle met his eyes. “You’ve never been tied up and fucked by your woman?”

Suddenly flustered and embarrassed, the security guard shoved the costume back into Battle’s suitcase and moved him through the security line. 

He never even would have thought about making that excuse before he met Mara Peace and got tied down and fucked by her. 

From the airport he took a cab to Divide to drop off the Broker’s ten percent. From Divide he walked home. 

Battle always recovered from things so quickly. He almost never felt fatigue or exhaustion. But for some reason Battle had been so tired lately. Like all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and take a 100-year long nap. He hadn’t felt sleepy like this –tired all the time- since his mother died. 

Up in his condo, he didn’t even bother to wheel his carry-on to the bedroom, or unpack and divide up his cash. Battle just dropped everything inside the door, flopped down on his couch, kicked off his shoes, and flipped on the TV. He was hoping that dumb PSA about fire safety would be on so that he could at least see Mara again. 

Battle didn’t know how long he sat there, flipping through channels. Cycling through everything there was, then flipping back the other direction. 

Something tapped on his balcony door. 

Probably a pigeon. Damn flying rats. Always shitting on his balcony railing. One of these days, Battle was going to take a bow and a quiver of arrows and shoot every fucking pigeon he could see. 

The tapping continued. 

Irritated, Battle sat up. Turning his head to peer behind him at the balcony door. 

It was a Bird tapping on the glass, but not a pigeon. Flamebird hovered over his balcony. 

Before he was even aware that he was moving, Battle was up off the couch and across the room. He slid the door open quickly with a decisively loud BANG. He couldn’t help the smile on his face when he all but shouted, “You came back!”

She backed up the moment the door was open. Hovering just off the balcony. Out of arms’ reach. Where he couldn’t touch her. She came back, but she was still being cautious. She didn’t trust him. She was smart. 

“Have you been following the news?” She asked. 

“I…” He leaned against his balcony railing, gazing at her red hair drifting in the breeze. Somehow, she managed to be more beautiful than he remembered. “I travel a lot. Don’t really have time to watch the news.”

“Papers.” Flamebird reminded him. “You can read a newspaper on an airplane.”

“I… I don’t.” He confessed. Battle didn’t keep up with the news. Battle didn’t care enough. The only news story he paid any attention to recently was the one about her, where she saved an entire building of people. “I saw you made the papers a while back.”

“Local story.” She scoffed, almost dismissively. As if her own achievements weren’t relevant at the moment. Maybe they weren’t relevant because that’s not what she was asking about. Or maybe she dismissed them because she was a hero and helping people came naturally to her and wasn’t done out of any desire for validation or glory. “I mean international news. Do you keep up with what goes on in the countries you do your jobs in after you leave? Have you been keeping up with Parazuela?”

“Parazuela…?” Battle squinted at her, trying to remember what that job was. He’d taken so many in the past six months. After a while, they all kinda blended together. “Oh! The General and his lieutenant.” 

Mara nodded. “Free and open elections were held in in Parazuela for the first time in living memory.” She informed him. Reaching into the waistband of her costume, she pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to him. 

It was warm to the touch when Battle took it. Unfolding the paper, he realized it was a newspaper clipping. An article detailing the elections, giving a little bit of history of the country so that readers could understand what a momentous occasion it was, and finishing the article by pointing out that the election marked the end of a civil war and revolution that was brought on by the death of the late General. 

“That wouldn’t have been able to happen if you hadn’t killed their dictator.” Mara informed him. 

“So, what are you saying?” Battle asked, not fully understanding her motivation in coming here. 

She put a hand on her hip, pursing those red lips, thinking of how to phrase her answer. “What you did was immoral.” She informed him. “Killing is wrong, no matter how you choose to rationalize it.”

Battle was sensing a ‘but’ and as much as he hated to take wisdom from his father, Paladin often used to tell him that anything said before a ‘but’ didn’t matter. 

“However,” she continued –that was the same as a ‘but’, “the results that came from that action were good. The people there have a chance for a better future and better lives. That is objectively good. So…” she paused again for thought. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that ‘moral’ and ‘good’ are not the same thing and can be mutually exclusive.” 

“I… see…” That still did not explain what she was doing here. Hovering outside his balcony. Close enough to talk, but still keeping far enough away for him to touch. Not that Battle was begrudging this sudden appearance. He had just been reflecting that he wanted to see her again. See her. Talk with her. She was talking. That was exactly what Battle wanted. He wasn’t going to begrudge the spontaneity of it, or risk saying anything that might chase her away again. 

“You say you’re a supervillain, and so I’ll take you at your word and agree that’s true.” Mara continued. “You kill people and that is something heroes just don’t do. So, obviously, you’re not a hero. But, you didn’t have to tell me you were a supervillain. I had no idea and wasn’t about to figure it out. You didn’t have to confess what kind of villain you are. I’ve never heard of you before and had no idea what you do. You were honest, and upfront. And you didn’t have to be. So… you might be a supervillain, but you’re not actually a bad person.”

He snorted at that. 

In Battle’s own opinion, he was a very bad man. 

She just smiled at him. “The fact that you see yourself as a bad person also speaks to your character.”

Was she trying to say she liked him to spite him being a supervillain? “What are you doing here, Sparky?”

The question hung in the air between them. The wind rustled her hair, and tangled his curls. For half a moment, Battle thought she wasn’t going to answer. Just realize her mistake in coming to see him and fly away. Why did she care so much to build him into ‘not a bad guy once you got you know him’ in her mind?

Then, Mara drew in a breath. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to go on a second date with me.”

Battle’s heart skipped a beat. 

He stared at her, not believe the words she’d just said. “But I’m a supervillain!”

“We’d lay down some ground rules, of course.” She was quick to insist. “Like in bondage play. We both agree on terms to make each of us feel comfortable with what we’re doing. For example, I’d appreciate continued honesty from you.”

“No secrets.” He agreed. In that moment, Battle knew, he would tell her anything she wanted to know. Even if… even if she asked about his father. Battle would tell her about his father. “I guess… I guess I should request you not try and get in the way of my work.”

“That means you’d have to tell me about your jobs.” Mara pointed out. “So that I know to stay away.”

“No secrets.” Battle repeated. 

“You’d be willing to do that?” She asked, voice a little skeptical. “Confess all your crimes to a hero? Even ones you haven’t committed yet.”

“I already confessed to political assassination six months ago and you didn’t turn me in.” He pointed out. “I’d say that’s fairly compelling evidence that I can trust you. What evidence do you have that you can trust me?”

“You confessed to being a villain after our first date.” Mara reminded him. 

“After.” He agreed. “After our date. After we slept together. After I had you in my home. After you ate my cooking.” 

“There was nothing malicious about it.” A pause. “Was there?”

Before answering, Battle took a moment to examine himself and his own motivations. To make sure all assessments were accurate and correct. “You made an impression on me.” He finally confessed. “I liked you to spite being a hero. I didn’t want to lie to you. I wanted you to like me, but you couldn’t like me if you didn’t know me.”

“So, it’s settled then. We’ll have a second date.” Mara nodded. “This time completely honest. No pretenses. No deceptions.”

“Okay.” Battle nodded. That sounded wonderful! 

Mara smiled. “Don’t pick me up at home. We’ll meet. Somewhere public. During the day.” 

“That sounds fair.” He nodded, smiling. He was smiling like a fool. Battle could feel it on his face. Lips pulled wise, displaying his teeth. He was happy. Happy this intelligent and attractive woman was still interested in him. 

“The park.” Mara decided for them. “Saturday. For brunch. We’ll split the check. Maybe walk around and talk. I will not be going home with you. You will not be coming home with me. We will not have sex.” 

Battle was so disappointed. “That sounds fair.”

“See you then.” She flew away.


	5. How Their Second Date Went

The day was so bright and sunny, Battle had to swap out his glasses for his prescription shades. 

He was dressed casually this time. No nice slacks, no dress shirt, no blazer. Mara said no pretense. So, he didn’t dress-up. Instead, Battle wore jeans, a Megadeth t-shirt (black), and a leather jacket. 

It looked like Mara had dressed down for the occasion too. Battle almost didn’t recognize her when she came up to him wearing flat-sole sandals, a gingham skirt that went down to her knees, a white blouse, and a sunshine yellow cardigan. Her red hair without that absurd perm and instead pulled into a side ponytail that bounced when she came running up to him. She was dressed so modestly! It was a stark contrast to everything he’d seen her wearing before. 

“Megadeth?” She questioned, eyeing his shirt. “Wouldn’t have taken you for a metal fan.”

“What about you?” He shot back. “You look like a librarian.”

“I am a librarian.” Mara reminded him. 

That’s right. She mentioned as much on their first date. She was a librarian, but not a naughty librarian. She was a naughty hero, but not a naughty librarian. 

Battle cleared his throat. “So, what’d you have in mind for our second date?”

She started strolling down the sidewalk that ran the perimeter of the park. “There’s a nice café that offers bottomless mimosas when you order the brunch special.”

Mimosas, as it turned out, were champaign mixed with orange juice. Battle discovered this very quickly after taking his first sip. The orange juice part was sweet and citrusy, exactly how orange juice should be. But it was ruined by the alcohol of the champaign. Battle set his glass down and ordered a real orange juice instead. 

“Not a fan of champaign?” Mara asked. 

“Alcohol tastes bad and it does nothing for me.” Battle had to inform her. “I have no reason to keep trying to drink it.”

You’d think he’d just grown a second head the way Mara stared at him. “You don’t get drunk?”

“No…” Battle was unsure if she was suddenly concerned that he would always be able to take advantage of her if she drank too much around him. After all, he was a villain. What reason did she have to trust him not to make unsolicited advances while she was intoxicated. 

Instead, Mara smiled. “So, you’ll always be the designated driver!”

“Uh…?” That was not what he expected. “Are you planning on getting smashed?” At brunch? It was, like, eleven AM. 

“Not right now.” She assured him. “But some time. Eventually. We keep dating long enough and you’ll see me drunk at some point.” 

Battle felt his face warm and knew he was flushed, and he was embarrassed by the fact that she made his blush so easily. “How long do you imagine this going on?”

Mara shrugged. “For as long as we’re having fun. I’ve never dated a supervillain before. Gotta say, I would have expected you to be more of a bad boy. But on our first date you were a timid little baby deer.” She giggled. “Bambi.”

He bristled. No one had ever had the balls to call him ‘Bambi’ in his life! Not even Ave, who insisted on calling him a puppy, would have ever dared call him ‘Bambi’. He was not some baby deer, ambling around the forest on unsteady legs, who frolicked through flowers and made friends with cute little woodland creatures. Hell! Back when he lived up in the mountains, he ate most of those cute little woodland creatures. 

“You okay there?” He heard Mara ask. Battle wasn’t aware his eyes were closed until he opened them and saw her hazel eyes looking at him from across the table with concern. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I thought it was cute.”

“I’m not a Bambi.” He told her. 

“Okay. So you’re not a Bambi.” She soothed. 

There was an awkward pause. The conversation reaching a sort of lull in which neither one of them knew what to say. 

Mara sipper her mimosa. Battle sipped his regular orange juice. 

“So…” She decided it was time to break the silence again. “How does one become a supervillain? Like, what kind of life choices lead to knowingly and willingly living a life of villainy?” 

Battle snorted, running a finger over the rim of his glass. “Am I supposed to pour out some tragic backstory to make you sympathize with my struggles?” He stopped running his hand over the glass and drained the last of his juice. He resolved that if she ever asked, he would tell her about his father. But not yet. He wasn’t ready yet. They didn’t really know each other well enough yet. “I just didn’t want to be a hero.”

“Really?” She blinked at him. “That’s so simple! I was honestly expecting something more complicated.”

“Supervillains don’t need complicated motivations.” He informed her, oddly defensive. 

“Yeah, but you’re not really a real supervillain.” She scoffed. 

“Excuse me!?” What the fuck was that supposed to mean!? He was a villain and he had super powers. What else was there to being a supervillain? How dare she try and undervalue him like that! 

“I mean, yeah, you do bad things.” She agreed. “But you free countries from despots and dictatorships. You’re more of a vigilante than a clear-cut villain.”

Rude! And wrong. “What makes you think I take out despots, and free countries?” Battle demanded. “Just because it happened to work out that way once!”

The server brought then their food. It had been pointless for Battle to order the brunch special since he wasn’t drinking the bottomless mimosa’s but he bit into his sundried tomato and mozzarella panini anyway and wished for a side of steak to pair with it. He watched Mara drench her own food in Tabasco sauce before taking a bite. 

“Okay.” She began again after the server had left. “Then list some other people that you’ve…” she paused, casting her brain around for a gentler way to say ‘killed’ “…taken out.”

Battle hesitated, wondering if this might be a trap of some kind. Get him to confess to all his crimes so that she could put him away for the rest of his significantly long life and any resurrections or subsequent lives to come. She was wearing more clothing than he was used to seeing her in. She could be wearing a wire. A van full of feds, or Interpol parked somewhere listening in. His eyes did a sweep of her white blouse and yellow cardigan. So much fabric. So little skin. What was she hiding under there besides that tight little body?

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” She informed him. “This date is supposed to be so we can figure out if we really can continue to see each other. I only asked for no lies. Not answering a question is not lying. Not answering a question is setting a boundary. A boundary that I will respect.” A pause. “You were the one who said ‘no secrets’.”

Well, fuck if she didn’t have him there!

“It’s kinda a long list.” Battle informed her. “I… I’ve been doing this for eight years.”

Eight years. Approximately one job a month –sometimes two jobs a month- that came to between ninety-six to a hundred and forty-four missions since he was seventeen. Battle was sure Ave kept a record and would have an exact number. But Battle did not keep count. Of course, not all jobs were hits. Some were thefts. Some espionage –corporate or political. So, over a hundred jobs did not mean over a hundred kills. 

Mara blinked at him. Horrified. “You must have still been in school when you started!”

“I had living expenses.” And he couldn’t survive off of pawning his father’s old trophies and artifacts forever. 

“And your parents let you!?”

“My parents were dead.” Battle informed her. 

He watched his mother tumbled down the stairs and break her neck. He knelt over her body while the medical examiner declared her an ‘accidental death’. He listened as his father explained to the police that she just ‘tripped’ from the top of the stairs. …and Battle killed the old man for it. Later. When he was strong enough. He took all the training the old man gave him and used it to avenge his mother’s death. Then he took anything of value from that old house in the woods, came down from the mountains, and started to squat in a seedy motel in South Side. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Mara sounded genuinely sympathetic for him, and Battle realized he had given her a bread crumb of exactly the ‘tragic backstory’ she was probably expecting. “Losing a parent is hard. Especially when you’re young. I- I remember when my dad died…”

Battle jumped on that. Steering focus of the conversation away from his own parents and onto hers. “Burnhawk, right?” 

She gave a weak little nod. Then sipped her mimosa, avoiding eye-contact. She was sad. Talking about her dead dad made her sad. Unlike Battle, she actually loved her father. 

“We don’t have to talk about dead parents if you don’t want to.” He told her. 

He certainly didn’t want to have to offer anything about his father in return. Not yet. Maybe… maybe eventually. But not yet. Not when they were still feeling each other out. Seeing if this attraction was genuine, or would just fizzle out and disappear. They spent six months apart and still wanted to see each other, so maybe this was real. But… it could also just be because they left things unfinished after their first date. 

Mara gave a weak, but appreciative, little smile. 

The conversation lapsed into another awkward silence. 

She added more hot sauce to her food. 

Battle wished for bloody red meat.

“So, Megadeth.” Mara cleared her throat, bringing the conversation back to his shirt. “You know that band was only created so that Dave Mustaine could say a big F-you to Metallica, right? It’s a spite-band, not a metal band.”

“All metal bands are spite-bands.” Battle informed her, much more comfortable with talking about something shallow and inconsequential like music. 

She gave a snort of amusement. “And all metalheads are spiteful little boys who’re angry with their daddies.”

Damn. Okay. Maybe talking about music wasn’t quite as shallow and safe as Battle thought it might be. 

“What kind of music do you listen to?” He asked, turning the question back on her. If she could make –not entirely inaccurate- assessments of his character based off his musical tastes, then he could do the same with her. 

Mara shrugged. “I’m kinda eclectic. I like a little of everything. Pop. Glam rock. Hair metal. My favorite song changes every week.”

“Hair metal isn’t metal.” Battle informed her, never realizing he even had an opinion on the matter before. “Hair metal is just angrier glam rock.” –She snorted at that.- “But what’s your favorite song this week?”

“We Built This City, by Starship.” She answered, blushing. Was she self-conscious or something? She didn’t blush when she was making bold sexual innuendoes during a monster fights. She didn’t blush when she tied him to his own bed and sucked his balls. She didn’t blush when she walked out of his bedroom stark naked. But telling him her flavor-of-the-week song, that was embarrassing. 

“Mm.” He cast his brain about for something charming to say to put her at ease. “So, what kind of zoning would be needed to build a city on rock and roll?”

She blinked at him, not getting the joke at first and Battle was disappointed. 

Then Mara snorted. Loudly. A high, nasal snort of laughter. She had to cover her nose with her hand to hide the unladylike noise. People at other tables shot her judgy looks and disapproving glares. Battle smiled back at her. That was the most adorable sound he’d ever heard come out of a human body. He quickly decided he liked her laugh. 

“That’s such a clean and innocent joke for a supervillain to make.” Mara told him. 

Battle bared his teeth at her in a challenge. “This from the hero who made the ‘who’s penetrating who’ comment during our movie.”

For a hero, she had a very dark sense of humor. Apparently, for a villain, he had a very ‘clean and innocent’ sense of humor. 

Mara tilted her head to the side, not remembering the comment she made in the movie they saw together. It had been six months ago. That was half a year. She tried to run through it in her head. That was back when she still thought he was a hero, or at the very least, some denomination of anti-hero, and wanted to sleep with him more than actually date him in any serious capacity. To that end, it was probably a sex joke. The movie he picked had been pretty violent –that should have been a clue that he wasn’t hero material right here- and it didn’t leave much opportunity for sexual innuendo. At least, not the fun kind of sexual innuendo. 

Then she remembered. “Oh! Yeah…” She sucked in a hissing breath between her teeth. “That was pretty dark. My jokes aren’t usually like that. I promise.”

“I liked it.” Battle told her. 

She snorted again. “You’re a supervillain. You would.”

“Even with my ‘clean and innocent’ sense of humor?” He grinned at her. Battle was teasing her. He hadn’t playfully teased a girl since… well, since before Sue disappeared he supposed. She had been his best friend in high school. People accused them of being sweethearts, but Sue Tenny was really more like the sister he never had –and they teased each other like the siblings they never were. 

“Levels of humor, I guess.” Mara conceded. Then exclaimed. “Oh, Gawd! I can only imagine what your dad-jokes might one day be!”

“I’m gonna be a dad now?” He pitched it like another tease. 

But the very thought filled Battle with dread. His own father was a monster in a hero costume. He had no other frames of reference or examples to draw from. He would be a terrible father and damage his own child as much as he was damaged by his father. Unconsciously, Battle’s eyes flicked down to where she sat on the other side of the table. It had been six months since he and Mara Peace had slept together. If something had come of that night she would have definitely, definitely been showing by now. But she was still as slender and tiny as the day she plucked him out of freefall. 

“I donno.” She shrugged, completely oblivious to the tiny panic attack she’d just given him. As far as Mara was concerned, they were still keeping things light and breezy. “I don’t know your life plan. If you wanna settle down with a wife and have two point five children, a house with a yard, a cat, and a mortgage. Or if you wanna take over the world. Like, what kind of life goals do supervillains even aspire to?”

Taking a sip of his orange juice, Battle used it as a way to delay the question. Get himself back under control. He swallowed the sip harder than he needed to, but he was calmer. He could slide back into the flow of the conversation. 

Battle shrugged. “I guess I don’t really have any ‘life goals’.” He admitted. “Ever since I started, it’s just sort of been this way. I got comfortable. I never really thought about the future.” 

He never had a compelling reason to. He made enough money to support himself. He owned his own home, a condo in one of the most sought after buildings in Downtown. He lived alone, and didn’t have to make considerations for another person in financial decisions. He ate what he wanted. He slept when he wanted. He worked when he wanted. It was a comfortable life. Battle was satisfied. He never thought about ‘the future’, or ‘what comes after’. He just assumed his life would always be the same. 

“That’s so weird!” Mara informed him. “In school, all the supervillains in the text books have lofty goals of ridding the planet of this or that, or taking over the world, or moving the continents back to Pangea, or killing all humans. Big things. Difficult things. Things it would take a lifetime to achieve.” 

“That sounds exhausting.” Battle informed her. “I just wanna do a job, get paid, then go home and watch TV. I can already do that, I don’t need to strive for anything more. Do you have lofty goals of stopping some insane supervillain who wants to... I donno, freeze the Earth and send us into another Ice Age?”

Although, if that was what was going down, Battle would get in on the stopping it part. You protect the Home Ground. He lived on Earth, so if it was the whole planet that was in danger, Battle would place himself on the hero’s side. Temporarily, obviously. For completely self-serving reasons. He was not an altruistic person. He just didn’t want his home to be destroyed. And he didn’t think that should be a uniquely ‘hero’ desire. 

“Fame and popularity would be nice.” She admitted. “But I’d settle for the news actually calling me ‘Flamebird’.”

And Battle remembered that the newspapers called her ‘a Girl-Hero’, not ‘Flamebird’. 

“But that’s not really a ‘life goal’.” Mara informed him. “Some day I’d like to move out of my mother’s house. Some day, I’d like to meet a nice guy and get married –not to you, obviously, Mr. Supervillain. Some day, I’d like to have children –ideally, with the nice guy I married.”

He snorted. Her life goals were so conventional. “So, what are you doing wasting your time with me?”

She smirked back. A mischievous little smirk that made Battle want to climb over the table and kiss that naughty little mouth of hers. 

“I’m only twenty-two.” She reminded him. “I gotta get all the wild out before I can settle down and join the PTA.”

“So I’m just a youthful fling.” He concluded. For some reason that disappointed Battle. He wasn’t saying he wanted a house with a yard, and a fleet of children under foot. But he wouldn’t mind this sexy little flame thrower living with him if she wanted to move out of her mother’s place. He especially wouldn’t mind if she walked around the condo naked as a regular thing. 

Mara shrugged. “Basically.”

So… so there was no point to them dating. Not really. Sure, she was fun to hang out with and she seemed to genuinely like him –for some reason- but not enough to stick with him. Battle wasn’t so interested in marriage, that was true. But he wouldn’t say ‘no’ to a life-long girlfriend. He wouldn’t say ‘no’ to an attractive and intelligent woman living with him. He wouldn’t say ‘no’ to the vast majority of things up to, marriage and children. That was his line, he supposed. 

Mara tilted her head again, studying him. “You look sad.” She observed. “Don’t tell me you really do want a traditional nuclear family.” 

That did not sound like a very supervillain-ish thing to want.

“I never thought about it.” Battle repeated, shaking his head. “But I shouldn’t. I would ruin any child I have a hand in raising.”

“’Ruin’ like… they would become a supervillain too?” She asked. Not so much concerned or even suspicious. More curious. 

Battle felt suddenly insulted. “There’s nothing wrong with being a supervillain. Villains might not adhere to your idea of ‘right and wrong’, but at least we’re not brainwashed, indoctrinated, mindless tools! We live our own lives, by our own views and opinions. We’re independent. Reactionary. Counter-culturalists.”

“Anarchists.” Head still tilted, Mara squinted at him. “Why did you really become a villain? Having bills to pay is one thing, but there are other ways a teenager can earn money without resorting to homicide.”

He hesitated again. Taking a bite of his panini to have an excuse to keep from answering. Battle already didn’t answer one of her questions, when she asked about other people he’s killed. When she asked him out for a second date, Battle resolved that he would tell her anything. But, so far, he’d been closed off and guarded. Swallowing, he decided to answer her first question instead. Talking about kills was easier than talking about his father. 

“Lord Mark Fitzwilliam, lord of Walenshire.” He told her. “And Prince Kashgorm, son of Prince Kashnan of Ajarakh. Comrade Leonid Ilyich Brezhnev of the Soviet Union. Kẻ Xấu of the Khmer Rouge.” 

Mara blinked at him. Not understanding. Surely these high-profile, wealthy or political figures were not the reason he became a villain. Battle already said he had no desire to take over the world, and he didn’t read the news. So how would he even know about these people –all of whom were from other countries. “Did I ask a different question than I thought I asked?”

“You asked who else I’ve ‘taken out’.” Battle supplied. “Earlier. You asked that earlier. I’m answering now.”

It took her a moment longer to catch up in the topic-shift of the conversation. Mara blinked when she finally got herself back up to speed. “Killing, uh, killing Soviet leadership sounds more like ‘serving your country’ than it does ‘being a villain’.” She finally told him. Brezhnev being the only name he listed that she recognized. “The rest I’ll look up.”

“Did- did you just call me a government spook?” Battle didn’t know how he felt about that. 

“You sound insulted.” Mara observed. “Being a supervillain and a murderer is a-okay with you, but working for your own country’s interests is where you draw the line?”

“I’m not political.” Battle reminded her. 

“And yet, you seem to have an opinion.” She pointed out. Otherwise, he would not have gotten insulted. “Actually, it totally makes sense to me. This conservative republican administration employing supervillains to do their dirty work for them. If the villain gets caught, the administration can claim ignorance of the plot and renounced the villain’s citizenship and immunities. I get it. And, honestly, it’s kinda a relief to see that you don’t like the idea of working for this current government.”

He made a face. Battle had forgotten that she liked to get political over meals. She was liberal and opinionated. He, on the other hand, had no compelling feelings one way or another. “Look, Sparky, I just do a job and then get paid. I really don’t care who I’m working for.” A pause. “I’m working for myself.”

“Mm, so you keep saying.” Mara offered him a humoring smile. “And yet, of the two hits that I’ve heard of before, one was a despotic dictator, and the other was a high-profile leader of our country’s biggest rival. So, two for two, you appear to only kill bad people.”

“I feel obligated to point out to you that you’re making some fairly large assumptions, based off of very little information.” Battle reminded her. 

“And why does that concern you?” She rested her elbows on the table, interlacing her fingers. “Why does the big bad supervillain care what assumptions the naïve little hero makes?”

Battle scoffed. “How is that a question. I’ve already admitted to wanting you to like me. I can’t let you build me up in your head as some kind of misunderstood anti-hero. The moment you realize that fantasy isn’t true you’ll get pissed off and dump me.”

“Well, we’re gonna break-up eventually.” Mara reminded him. “You’ve already admitted to never thinking about the future and I, some day, wanna have a traditional nuclear family. Obviously, I won’t be having those things with you. So, obviously, we’ll be dumping each other at some point.”

“Which brings me back to, why are we even trying to date in the first place?” 

“Having fun isn’t enough of a reason?” She shot back. “If you’ve never thought about what you want out of your future, and don’t care about getting a wife, and think you shouldn’t have kids, why do you date?”

“Sex. Obviously.” Battle didn’t even have to think about his answer. 

But when Mara grinned at him from across the table, he feared maybe that was the wrong answer to give. “Well, you do have a big dick, so I guess there’s that.” That grin melted into her mischievous smirk. “But I said we weren’t gonna have sex on this date, remember. So, why’d you agree to come?”

Battle swallowed a knot in his throat. This woman was going to ruin him. 

…

After brunch, she led him on a walk through the park. She led him. His hand held in hers, their fingers intertwined. The stroll was slow and leisurely. 

Mara dragged Battle down the narrow paths between the trees. The secluded areas that weren’t as populated as the open grass, or children’s playground. The perfect area for crime. Was her plan to double cross and beat him up? No. Heroes didn’t do that. Passing through the trees, Battle realized that Mara had taken them on a shortcut to the pond.

A wide expanse of water too small to be a lake, and not naturally occurring. It was wide enough for small docks to cut out into it for fishing, but not large enough to allow for paddle boats or swimming. The water was dark and stagnant except for the occasional carp, or duck disturbing the surface. 

They strolled along the bank, hand in hand. Just like a pair of average and mundane lovers. 

It was a nice sunny day, the city was peaceful, and Battle was in good company. Overall, this was pleasant date. 

“So, are you going to kiss me or not?” Mara asked as they started their second lap around the pond. 

“Huh?” Battle looked down at her startled. She was the one calling the shots this whole time. Did didn’t know it was okay to initiate an advance she hadn’t already expressed a desire for. “Do you want me to?”

She gave another snort and nasal laugh. Battle liked making her laugh, but he wasn’t quite sure what the joke was here. He had a suspicious that this time he was laughing at him and that he didn’t like. 

“Your genitals have already been inside me, but you’re shy about a little kissing.” Tilting her head, she looked up at him through her eyelashes. “I had no idea supervillains were so timid.”

“I’m not timid.” Battle felt like he should be insulted. But, he was the one who let her tie him up and told her to do her worst. Maybe he was timid, just, not in the way he was used to applying word. 

“Then kiss me, you goof.” Mara stopped walking. Turning towards him, standing on her tip-toes, neck craned up, lips puckered. 

Placing his free hand on the small of her back, Battle pulled her tiny body flush against his. Bending down to meet her, eyes closed, he brushed his lips against hers. Maybe he was timid. The kiss was a chase, closed mouth affair. Lips against lips, no open mouth, no tongue, definitely no teeth. He held the kiss for the space of three heartbeats before finally pulling away again. 

She sighed. “What, did you have, like, a conservative upbringing or something?” 

Battle flushed. Oddly uncomfortable. “Yes. Actually.” 

“Oh.” Mara apparently hadn’t expected that to be the truth. “Is that why you became a villain?”

Not exactly. “I already told you why I became a villain.”

“You did…” She nodded slowly, as if she didn’t believe the reasons he gave her. But Mara didn’t press the issue. Instead she hopped up in an empty bench and grabbed his head with both hands, framing his face. “Maybe I should just teach you how to kiss.”

Battle tried to pull away, but found that he couldn’t. She had tangled her fingers in his hair, if he tried to pull away, all he succeeded in doing was pulling his own hair. “Maybe no teeth this time?”

“We’ll work up to teeth.” Mara promised, bearing hers at him in a parody of a smile. If Mara Peace ever decided to switch sides and become a supervillain, she would be on terrifying supervillain. 

Closing his eyes, Battle braced himself for more tongue, saliva, and biting. He trusted her not to make him bleed again, but he did not trust her not to use teeth at all. There was just something so… aggressive about Mara. For the most part, Battle liked it. He found her exciting. But it also made her intimidating. Very, very intimidating. 

He felt her lean forward, bracing more of her body weight against him. 

But their lips didn’t meat. 

Somewhere off to the side of them there was a shocked gasp and a wordless exclamation. Followed quickly by a woman shouting. “My purse! That man stole my purse!”

Mara heaved an exasperated sigh and let go of him. “Unbelievable.”

Battle opened his eyes blinking. She had her absurdly large handbag in her hands and was fishing around inside it. He watched her pull out of a wad of brightly colored fabric and recognized it as part of her costume. Hopping off the park bench, Mara kicked off her shoes and slipped the bottoms on under her long skirt. 

“Um…” Battle had no idea what he was seeing here. Was she seriously changing clothes in the middle of a crowded park? He felt his face grow hot again and knew he was blushing again. Not just blushing but turning a very vivid shade of red. 

“In broad daylight!” She looked up at Battle. “You’re big, stand close to me. Hide me.”

“Um…” He said again, not sure what he was supposed to do or say. 

Battle watched her slip the top of her costume up under her blouse, then pull her arms in out of her sleeves. There was an awful lot of motion going on under that blouse and cardigan. She- she actually was changing her clothes right there, in a public part. Finally, she pulled off the blouse and cardigan, then pushed down the skirt. Fishing another hand back into the handbag, Mara finally pulled out her mask. Then it wasn’t Mara Peace standing in front of him anymore, it was Flamebird. 

“Wait here.” She ordered. Then threw her handbag at him. “And hold my purse.”

Then he was watching her sweet ass fly away as she chased down the purse snatcher. 

Battle watched the poor bastard get tacked by four feet and eleven inches of scantily clad red-head. Was it wrong that Battle kinda wanted her to tackle and pin him like that? Of course, the scenario he was imagining in his mind, Mara wasn’t ripping a stolen purse out of his hands and returning it to its rightful owner. In Battle’s scenario, she was burning his clothes off and shoving certain parts of her female anatomy against his mouth. Battle wasn’t timid. He just preferred aggressive partners. 

The woman thanked Flamebird profusely for getting her purse back for her. 

A parking guard who patrolled around the park came up to hold the would-be thief until the real police could arrive and arrest him. Battle looked around for a payphone. There were none anywhere near where they were and he had to wonder if anyone had even managed to call the police yet. 

Mara let the woman hug her, thanked the parking guard for taking the bad guy off her hands, then leaped into the air and flew away. 

Battle watched her brightly colored costume shrink in his vision until she was almost out of sight. Then turn. Making a long arc around the park, flying low. She eventually landed in the wooded area with poor visibility. Still holding her handbag, Battle gathered up her discarded civilian clothing and walked to meet her. 

She smiled when she saw him walking up. “Ya know, now that I know you’re a villain, I kinda half-expected you to just run away with my purse.”

“This giant thing!” He held up her handbag. “I don’t think I’d get farther than half a block lugging this.”

Mara gave another snort. 

Battle smiled. He liked it when she laughed. He held out her civilian clothing for her. “Here.”

“Thanks.” And Mara just pulled off the top of her costume. Not even the pretense of modesty. Just peeled off the brightly colored spandex, showing off that she still wasn’t wearing a bra. Nipples still pierced by those gold barrel piercings. She grabbed her blouse from him and slipped it on over her head. “Ya know, it’s kinda nice having someone to watch my stuff while I go after the bad guys.”

“I’m going to assume that’s a complement.” He told her. Although, it sounded suspiciously like she was calling him a sidekick. Holding the bag, or the secret identity clothing sounded more like a sidekick’s job. 

“It means I like having you around.” She clarified, peeling off the bottoms of her costume next. 

Revealing a tiny little triangle of fabric covering her sex. Bright red and cottony. It made Battle remember the black lace panties she’d left on his bedroom floor. He still had them. He kept them in his bedside table. Mara grabbed her skirt from him and pulled that one next. 

In a matter of moments, she had transformed back from Naught Superhero, to modest librarian. The only evidence that she ever changed at all, her side ponytail was a little messy. 

“Well, that was exciting.” She smiled at him. Taking his arm again, Mara steered him down the path. “I’ll walk you back to your car.”

“Wait, that’s it?” Battle found himself asking. He wanted more time with her. He wanted to spend the rest of the day with her. He wanted this date to go until evening. He wanted her to come back to his place. He wanted… Battle sighed. Before he even agreed to this second date she told him they would not be having sex this time. Clearly, they had to part ways at some point. He let her walk him back to his car. 

This time, she opened the door for him. 

Leaning through the open driver side window, Mara finally delivered the kiss she was about to give him before the purse snatcher so rudely interrupted them. Lips sliding against lips, mouth open, tongue slithering out to demand entry into his mouth. Battle parted his lips before she could force her way in. Her aggressive kissing was much more pleasant now that he knew what to expect. Battle slid his tongue along hers, slithering in to explore her mouth in turn. Her kind of open mouth kissing was actually kinda nice. Not invasive like the first time. More a… mutual exchange of desire. And Battle definitely desired her. 

True to her word, she did not use teeth. There was no biting of his bottom lip as she pulled away. 

“Do you wanna have a third date?” She asked.

“Very much.” He admitted. 

Mara nodded. “I still don’t want you coming to my home, so don’t pick me up. But next time we can have sex if you want it.”

Battle very, very, very much wanted it. “My place?” He suggested. “I’ll make dinner.”

She sucked on her bottom lip. “A big dick and cooking skills. It’s so not fair that you’re a villain.”

He offered her a mischievous smirk of his own. “What can I say? I live to displease.”

“Naughty boy.” Mara teased, grinning a suggestive grin of her own. “Someone should punish you…”

“Mm, is that someone you?” 

“Do you want me to punish you?” She smiled back. 

Battle was about to grin back and passionately admit ‘yes’. But he found himself pausing. Suddenly holding back the answer. Feeling inexplicably guarded and cautious. The last time a hero said they needed to ‘punish’ him, he got the shit beat out of him –and definitely not in a sexy way. 

“What would ‘punishment’ entail?” He asked instead. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.” Mara promised. “We’ll lay down some ground rules before we begin. And if you change your mind about anything while we’re doing it, just use the safe word and I’ll stop. Remember, you can revoke consent at any time.” 

Battle nodded. “My place. Dinner. See you then.”


	6. Blindfolded

Battle told himself he wasn’t going to make this dinner too fancy. It was only his third date with Mara. She was a hero and he shouldn’t invest too much effort in a hero. Their relationship was fragile and already predestined to fail, so there was no point in making grand, elaborate gestures. He was just gonna make steak, and potatoes, and some kind of vegetable. 

Then he looked in his fridge and realized he didn’t have any fresh vegetables. 

So, that was what lead him to standing in the produce section of his local grocery, staring at green beans, broccoli, carrots, beets, radishes, cauliflower, peas, okra, zucchini, asparagus, spinach, brussel sprouts, peppers and onions… Battle realized he had no idea what Mara liked. She liked things spicy. He’d already noticed that. But what did she eat? Of the two meals they had together he’s seen her eat szechwan chicken, and then a disappointing vegetarian panini –Battle thought it was disappointed, Mara seemed to like it. 

Wait, the only meat he’d seen her eat was chicken. Did she even eat red meat? Would she eat the steaks that were marinating in his fridge right now? 

So, that was what lead Battle to the local butcher where he usually got his meats. He bought a whole chicken. Then thought what if Mara only ate white meat? So, he also got just two chicken breasts. 

When he got back up to his apartment and started unpacking everything he’d bought, Battle realized he’d gotten enough groceries for a small family of three. It was as much food as he would have brought home back when he lived up in Bedlam and his parents were still alive. He stared at the meats and vegetables spread over the counter and wondered what in the world he was going to make. Battle gave himself too many options now. 

Should he do a garlic and basil rub and bake the whole chicken? Whip up a cream sauce and cook just the whit-meat breasts? Or should he stick with his original plan of marinated steaks? What would Mara like?

Unable to decide, and afraid of making the wrong decision, Battle cooked everything. 

Steak, chicken breasts, whole chicken. Potatoes, peas, carrots, green beans, broccoli, cauliflower, bell peppers, onions, beets, asparagus, spinach and zucchini. 

Battle ended up making a feast that could feed ten people. 

There was literally no single surface to lay it out on in his whole apartment. He didn’t have a dining table. He had been planning to just eat off the coffee table. He pulled one of his black cotton sheets out of the linen closet and laid it out over the floor. Placing the trivets under the still hot dishes, Battle arranged the whole chicken in the center, with steaks and breasts flanking it, potatoes both roasted and mashed after that, and a ring of different vegetable options encircling it all. 

For a little flair, and to add an element of romance to the meal, Battle added two antique silver candle sticks with mismatched candles. 

He was just lighting the candles when he heard a tapping on his balcony door. 

The dress she chose to wear tonight was a fairly even compromise between the smoldering temptress she’d been on their first date, and the modest librarian he’d had brunch with on their second. She skirt was long, going past her knees again, and gathered, making it swirl and flow with the breeze. But that loose gather didn’t start until bellow her hips. The mid-part of the dress hugged her figure like that tiny coral number –which was still sitting in his closet- had. Tight fabric outlining her figure, the curve of her hips, the narrowness of her waist, the shape of her breasts. The collar was low cut, displaying her meager cleavage, but this time the dress had straps. Thin spaghetti straps that drew attention to the fact that the rest of her shoulders were bare. 

She still carried that absurdly large handbag, but in addition to that, she also had thrown over the other shoulder a large black duffle bag. 

Standing Battle slid the balcony door open. “What’s with the body bag?” He asked. “You change teams all of a sudden.”

“Huh?” She linked at him. “Oh! This. No, I just thought maybe this time I should bring my supplies. Since now I know you don’t have any of your own.” 

“Supplies?” He felt his face burn as the word escaped his lips. She brought her supplies this time. Supplies for tying men to their beds and having her way with them. Supplies for… other things that she might need supplies for. 

“Mm-hm.” She smiled, taking her shoes off before she floated in. “I’ll just throw this in the bedroom. Then you can tell me how many other people are coming.”

“What?” Battle blinked at her as she disappeared into his bedroom. “No one else is coming! It’s just the two of us.”

Mara came back out, still smiling. “It looks like you made enough food for a small army.”

“I, uh, I didn’t know what you’d like.” He tried to explain. “So, I made a little of everything.”

She looked down at the feast laid out picnic style on the living room floor. Full size steaks, every vegetable under the sun, a whole chicken. “You certainly did.” Mara walked a circle around the spread, then headed into the kitchen. “Where do you keep your plates?”

Flushing with embarrassment at having forgotten something so basic, Battle rushed into the kitchen after her. He showed her where the plates were. Also, pulling out forks and knives. Cloth napkins. Battle tried folding the cutlery into the napkins like his mother showed him, but Mara gathered it all up and carried everything into the living room before he could. 

She sat down on the edge of the sheet, arranging her skirt around her. 

Battle sat down opposite her. 

“Candles were a nice touch.” Mara commented. 

She began filling her plate with green beans in an almond sauce, candied carrots, creamed spinach, cheesy broccoli, all the vegetable options. But not any of the potatoes. Damn. Should he had not made so much meat? But, no. She ate meat. He saw her eat meat. Then she reached for one of the chicken breasts in the cream sauce and Battle breathed a sigh of relief. He reached for one of the steaks. Usually, Battle preferred his meat rare. Bloody. But most people did not crave flesh the way he did, so he cooked them closer to what the average person would consider ‘medium-rare’. As more of an afterthought, he also added both kinds of potatoes, and a vegetable. 

“I wanted to impress you.” Battle admitted. 

“You’ve already impressed me.” Mara informed him. “I looked up all the names you told me. The names of the people you killed for money. I know who they are now.”

“And you’re still here?” Battle asked, skeptical. 

“Lord Fitzwilliam was low-level nobility, not close to the throne or greater holdings. His life –and death- had no political value.” She began. “He had no heir. There was no profit in his murder. Except,” she paused to take a bite of her chicken, “oh! Damn. That’s good.” She swallowed. “Except, after his death, it came to light that he was the head of a major ring of international human traffickers. Girls as young as twelve. His murder investigation put authorities in a position to rescue countless women who’d been kidnapped and sold into all kinds of dangerous situations.”

Battle didn’t know what to say to that, so he took a bite of his meat to have an excuse not to talk. 

“Prince Kashgorm was an eldest son and due to inherit control of Ajarakh.” Mara continued. “But he was also a degenerate gambler and wasn’t shy about dipping into government funds to keep himself square with his lenders. After his death, the heir became his younger brother Brennan, whom –thus far- appears to be civic minded and has used his current level of influence in the government to rebuild roads, repair bridges, renovate city plumbing, sewers, and drainage. To making people’s lives better.” She took another bite of food and smirked at him. Then swallowed. “Do I need to explain what made the member of the Khmer Rouge you killed a bad man?”

Battle swallowed his own food. “So, are you trying to tell me that I only kill bad people?”

“You tell me. You’re the one who accepts your jobs.” Mara reminded him. “How do you choose your clients?”

“I outsource that part to the Broker.” Battle told her, as if this should have been obvious.

She took another bite of food. “And who’s the Broker? Another brooding bad boy who claims to be a big bad supervillain but is really a cute little Bambi?”

“I’m not a Bambi.” Battle muttered, more to himself than to her. “No. The Broker is a neutral super. Not hero, not villain. He works on both sides. He Reads people, and he matches them with jobs that fit them.”

And after Mara left tomorrow morning, Battle was going to march down to Divide and demand an explanation from Ave as to why all the jobs the old man found for him just happen to be jobs that could be misinterpreted or reinvented as acts of an ‘anti-hero’ instead of a villain. Battle wasn’t a hero, anti or otherwise. 

“Ah, so it’s this Broker person that’s the real anti-hero.” Mara took another bite. “You just work for him.”

“I’m not a henchman either, if that’s what you’re implying.” How did she manage to keep doing this? Get under his skin. Give him a hard time. Get him all worked up and bothered. She was an expert torturer, and she never even had to inflict any physical pain. All she had to do was ask questions and double check the answers she got. 

“Right, right.” Mara nodded. “You’re not a henchman, and you’re not a superhero. You’re just a guy with superpowers, who takes out key bad men all over the world, and –generally- leaves the area a better place than it was before he went there.”

Well, when she described what he did like that…

But no. He was not a hero. Battle didn’t want to be a hero. And besides, he killed people. Last he checked, the heroes had some very specific things to say on the subject of killing. Mainly that heroes don’t do it. It was the one -unifying- Rule that united all heroes. Do not kill. Killing is wrong. If you kill, you are not a hero. Simple as that. Battle killed every one of the people Mara looked up. Sure, they were bad people, but that did not change the fact that they were murdered, and murdered by Battle. So, Battle was not a hero. Period. End of sentence. 

“Can we talk about something else, please?” He asked. 

“Sure. Sure.” Mara had cleaned her plate of her first helpings and reached across the blanket to grab some more. “This is really good! Where’d you learn to cook?”

Battle hesitated. Long enough for Mara to notice. He told himself he would tell her everything if she asked. But some things were easier to talk about than others. No one had ever asked Battle how he learned to cook. No one had ever cared. Now, he realized, it made him sad to think about. 

“My mother…” Battle found he had to clear his throat of the lump that formed there “…was hurt a lot. So, I would help her around the house. I would cook, clean, do the washing, and the mending. And my father had no idea.”

“Ah.” Mara nodded, not understanding the implication he was trying to make. She didn’t get that he was trying to tell her something without actually having to tell her. “I take it she wasn’t the one you inherited your powers from. Since you heal almost instantly and she got hurt a lot. Was she a sidekick or a henchman? They get hurt a lot.”

“My mother was a mundane.” Battle snapped, not realizing how angry he’d just become until he heard the venom in his own words. His mother was a mundane. A normal, powerless, average human. No superpowers. No extraordinary abilities. No unheard of skills. Just a normal woman. Exactly the kind of person heroes –like his father- were supposed to protect. Not harm. 

“Oh.” Mara looked down at her food. Considering all the unspoken implications that statement might have. That his mother was a mundane, she wasn’t a super. She wasn’t a sidekick or a henchmen. She didn’t go out and get beat up by villains or heroes. She wasn’t a hero or a villain. She didn’t go out and try to save or take over the world and engage in dramatic, climactic battles. She was just an average housewife. …Whom was hurt all the time… Mara set her plate down, suddenly finding that she wasn’t hungry anymore. “What… uh, what kind of villain was your father?”

“He wasn’t.” Battle growled. All the rage and hatred he kept suppressed for most of his life, even now after the man was gone, dripping from every syllable. 

Mara fidgeted under the intensity in his voice. The tone in the room had changed so dramatically over the course of this short conversation. Talking about his jobs and the people he’d killed was almost ‘light and breeze’. But this- -this was heavy and tense. Mara found herself fiddling with her hands, unsure of what to do with them when she asked, “Wasn’t what?”

“A villain.” Battle clarified. “My father wasn’t a villain. He was a hero.”

And Battle had chosen to be a villain. He seemed almost insulted when Mara tried to reimagine him and his actions as those of a hero –even an anti-hero. Biting her bottom lip, Mara remembered his odd statement on their first date. Clutching his chopsticks so hard they snapped. 

‘Not all heroes are good people.’

Barron’s father might have been a superhero, but he wasn’t a good person. 

“We don’t have to talk about your parents if you don’t want to.” Mara told him, not wanting to go much farther down this avenue of conversation herself. She did not like the venom in his voice, or the tension in the room. She was still hoping to seduce him into bed tonight and talk of abusive parents and childhood traumas were not sexy. 

Battle promised himself he would tell her anything she wanted, even if talking about his father was difficult. But if Mara didn’t want to know, he was saved. Battle took a large bite of his steak to have an excuse not to say anything. 

Mara poked at her food, suddenly less enthusiastic about eating it. 

They seemed to have lapsed into one of their awkward silences and Battle felt it was mostly his fault for some reason. He looked at all the food he’d made, then up at Mara pushing her second helping around on her plate. He cleared his throat. “So, uh, you really like my cooking?”

“It’s good.” She nodded. “Could use a little extra spice, but I already know you don’t have hot sauce.”

All that time he spent at the grocery store that day and Battle failed to get anything spicy at all. He wanted to kick himself. Six months ago, he was ready to start stocking his pantry with every fire sauce under the sun to keep her satisfied. Today, preparing a meal to impress her and he didn’t even pick up any black pepper. Next time he went shopping, Battle was going to get all the hot spices. Cayenne, paprika, habanero, seracha, tapetillo, tabasco, ghost pepper, and whatever else might burn going down. He would just buy it all! 

“Next time.” Battle promised her. 

Mara flashed him an almost apologetic smile. “Fire users like it hot.” She said by way of explanation. “My dad and I used to eat jalapenos like snacking peppers. Ya know those little bell peppers that come in a bag and you can eat them like carrots? My dad and I used to eat fresh jalapenos like that. Ma hated it! She would complain that just being in the same room with us made her eyes water.”

She smiled with a silent laugh at the memory. 

It seemed Mara, at least, had a healthy relationship with her parents, and her parents had a healthy relationship with each other. Academically, Battle knew his childhood was the exception, not the rule. But it was still strange listening to someone talk about their parents with equal amounts of affection for both of them, and not have to hide or conceal loathing or trauma. It was weird. 

“I’ll just leave the balcony open when you snack on jalapenos.” Battle decided. 

“Oh? I’m gonna be snacking over here now?” She flashed him a teasing smile.

He shrugged. “If you want.”

“You might not find me as attractive anymore if I start lazing around on your couch, wearing my fat-pants, and stuffing my face with peppers, and Cheetos with chili and lime.” That teasing smile was challenging now. 

Battle grinned back a challenge of his own. “Is that supposed to sound gross to me? You have no idea what my snacking habits are.”

Although, technically, Battle didn’t ‘snack’ in the strictest sense of the word. But sometimes after having to do a lot of healing in a short amount of time, or worse, reviving from a death, he had caught himself eating meat raw. No diet on Earth could make that an acceptable thing to normal people. If it wasn’t that the nature of his powers made him crave flesh, Battle would think it was pretty gross himself. 

“Oh? What’s your gross snacking habit?” Mara asked. 

Fuck! Like he was gonna tell her he ate raw meat. He did say no secrets. But she said not answering a question was okay. Or, he could give an incomplete answer… “I put hamburger meat in my cereal.”

That did not overtly imply the meat was uncooked. 

Mara blinked at him. “Oh… kay… A little unusual. But, people put chicken on waffles, so I guess that makes sense too.”

“I’ve heard of chili and lime on fruit.” Battle informed her. “But on Cheetos?”

“It’s really good!” She insisted. “One day, they have to make already spicy Cheetos. I bet the company could make a killing. I bet they’d be better than regular Cheetos! Hot Cheetos. No! Flaming Hot Cheetos! It’d be great!” 

“And flaming hot Cheetos with lime.” Battle added, smiling at the absurdity of the idea. ‘Flaming hot Cheetos’. Ha! Like that would ever happen. 

“Yes! It would be perfect!” Mara smiled. 

“I had no idea a person could be so passionate about their snacks.” Battle laughed. Although, he wasn’t sure if he was laughing at the idea of being passionate about snacks, or laughing at her for being passionate about snacks. 

“Listen, buddy, you don’t get between a girl and her comfort foods.” She leveled a threatening glare at him from across the picnic sheet. 

“I had no idea snacks were such serious business.” 

“Very serious.”

“You’re a snack.” Battle blurted out. 

He regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth. Battle was afraid Mara might be insulted. 

But she just smiled at him from across the picnic blanket. A sultry grin that had the blood rising in Battle’s face and… other places. “You wanna eat me?” 

A number of replies ran through his head. To assure her that he didn’t eat people, just red meat, and other meat, but not people meat. But then, they weren’t talking about meat and she didn’t literally mean eat her. She meant eat her out. And Battle definitely wanted to eat her out again. More this time. He wanted her to throw her legs over his shoulders, or sit on his face. With his hands free, so he could grope her ass while his tongue licked the juice from her warm wet pussy. 

Cheeks red, Battle looked down. “Yes.”

“Well, you won’t hear any objection from me.” Mara informed him. “But I do think we should digest a bit before we get down and dirty.” A pause. “I puked on a guy once. Ate too much, then just hopped on his dick. About three thrusts in, lunch rebelled against us.”

“Wanna watch Knight Rider?” Battle suggestion. Getting vomited on did not sound sexy. 

“You know what,” Mara began, “show me all the shows you like to watch when you come back from your jobs. You said you just wanna do a job, get paid, then come home and watch TV. What do you watch when you come home?”

“I… I watch Knight Rider.” He told her. And Street Hawk, the Fall Guy, the Equalizer, Dukes of Hazard, MacGyver, Miami Vice, the A-Team, and Murder She Wrote. 

“Okay.” She nodded. “Talking car it is then. That is the one with the talking car, right? I don’t watch much TV. I’m too busy between day job and hero work.”

Yet she found time to go on dates and sleep with a supervillain. 

Battle stood and turned on the TV. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

He then began packing up all the food he cooked. It really was a lot of food. He went a little crazy with this dinner. Nobody needed three meat options at a meal meant for only two people. Three meat options and every vegetable Battle knew how to cook. Guess he’ll be eating leftovers for the next week or so. 

Battle pulled down tupperwear containers and boxes, portioned out the leftovers into individual meals, put half in the refrigerator, and the rest in the freezer. For once, he was actually doing that thing where you make your meals for the month all at once and freeze them. 

Food all put away, Battle gathered up all the plates, serving dishes, and silverwear. He was going to just deposit them in the sink and go join Mara on the couch. But then they were just sitting there. In the sink. Dirty. And dirty dishes didn’t wash themselves. Battle took two steps away from the sink, then suddenly found himself standing in front of it again, the faucet turned on, putting soap on a sponge. 

“Are you gonna join me?” Mara called from the couch. 

“In a minute.” Battle called back, scrubbing at some chicken skin that was burned onto the side of a baking pan. 

“Wow. He cooks and cleans up after himself!” Mara exclaimed, more to herself than to him. “Shame. That’s husband material.”

Battle felt his face flush at the accusation of being ‘husband material’. For some reason, it made him feel even more uncomfortable than being accused of being a hero. But… a different kind of uncomfortable. Being accused of being a hero or anti-hero made Battle feel insulted, he was being called something he did not want to be. Being called ‘husband material’ made him feel… unworthy. Like she was attributing virtues to him that he did not actually possess. 

He distracted himself by scrubbing the cooking pans harder. Then the serving dishes. And the plates. Battle told himself he could leave the cutlery until the next morning. They were small. He started to walk away from the sink again. But then found himself in front of it scrubbing without having made the conscious decision. Cleaning up after a meal was just drilled into him too deeply. He could not leave a dish unwashed. If his mother did, his father became angry. If his father was angry, his mother ended up hurt again. It was just better for everyone if Battle made sure everything was clean before he sat down to watch TV. 

“Ya know, you’re missing your show!” Mara called to him. “I might as well just switch to Golden Girls if you’re not gonna watch with me.”

“That sounds like a Bond movie.” Battle shouted back to her. He was almost done with the cutlery. Once all the forks and knives were done, the sink would be empty. He could leave the kitchen then. 

“You’re thinking of Goldfinger.” She replied. “Golden Girls is a cute sit-com about a bunch of old-lady roommates.”

That sounded boring. 

Battle placed the last fork in the dish drainer, dried his hands on a kitchen towel, and finally came out into the living room to flop down on the couch next to Mara. 

Except he didn’t make it to the couch. 

Battle realized he’d left the sheet he used as their picnic blanket on the floor. It was now rumpled and covered in crumbs and grease stains. He scooped it up, wadding up the fabric so that no crumbs could escape, and threw it in the laundry hamper in his room. Battle paused before leaving his room. His eyes falling on the large bag Mara had brought. The bag of supplies. He flushed again, imagining what kinds of ‘supplies’ she might bring to a date for sex. 

Finally, Battle made it out to the living room and flopped down on the couch. 

Just in time to catch the end credits. 

“You missed your show.” Mara informed him. 

“So I see.” He growled. He wouldn’t have had so many dishes to wash if he didn’t cook quite so much. 

She cuddled up to him. “Hm. You smell like water and dish soap.” She informed him. Her hand slithered up under his shirt, her fingers running through the light dusting of his chest hair. “Maybe you should take off your top.”

“Should I?” He asked. 

“I think you’d be more comfortable.” She nodded. 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be uncomfortable.” Battle sat up so he could peel off his shirt. He flopped back against the couch, Mara resting her head on his pectoral, one arm snaking its way around his waist. She was pressed up against his body that Battle could feel her body head through the fabric of her dress. “You’re right. I do feel better.” He told her. “Taking clothes off is great. You should try it.”

“Maybe I will.” Now it was her turn to sit up straight, leaning forward to expose the zipper in the back. “But I need a little help.”

The zipper came down just as easily as the dress she’d worn on their first date. Again, no bra. Battle ran his hands up her back, feeling the smooth skin, hot under his hands. The curve of her hips, the narrow indent of her waist, the lean muscle over her ribs, finally her narrow shoulders. She had such a compact little body. Battle leaned forward and kissed her shoulder as she slid the spaghetti-thin straps of her dress off them. 

“Mm, so helpful.” Mara leaned back into his body, lifting her leg up to shake the rest of the dress off. 

She sat, half on Battle’s lap, now naked except for her panties. Pink this time. A triangle of shiny fabric covering her sex, lace waistband holding it on her hips, more lace drifting between the cheeks of her ass. 

Battle readjusted his arm so that she was sitting on his hand, his palm cupping one round butt cheek. 

“This is a little unfair.” She muttered to his chest, her body draped over him once again. “I’m almost naked and here you are still wearing pants.”

“I started off with more clothing than you.” He reminded her. 

Her hand drifted down his torso, making trails in his chest hair until her palm came to rest right over his erection. “Don’t you wanna let this guy out?” 

Maybe Battle hesitated a bit too long, because Mara seized the button and zipper of his jeans with both hands. 

“Or, maybe I should be the hero and free the poor trapped animal.” Unlooping the button, Mara slid the zipper down, allowing the tent of his underwear to rise out. She tried pushing the jeans off his hips, but it was difficult. He was still sitting down, and Battle was a lot larger and heavier than she was. “Do you mind?”

He lifted himself off the couch enough for Mara to push his jeans down to his knees. Battle kicked them the rest of the way off himself. They sat on the couch together, both now wearing only their underwear. 

“Now we’re wearing the exact same amount of clothing.” Mara informed him, climbing onto his lap and straddling his thighs. 

“Almost nothing.” Battle smiled at her. 

Her panties were so tiny, all he had to do was shift the fabric to the side a little bit and he could slip his cock in. Instead, he grabbed her ass with both hands. That perky round ass that he’d been fantasizing about from the first moment he saw her flying over the city. He cupped her cheeks, ran his hands over the curve, squeezed the soft flesh. Fondled and appreciated just how much there was of it. For such a tiny person, Mara Peace had a big ass. Battle readjusted his position on the couch, slouching slightly, so that the tent of his erection could be hugged by those soft round cheeks. 

“So, are we still waiting to digest before heading to the bedroom?” He asked. 

“We’re still waiting to digest before you shove this giant thing in me.” She nodded. Then flashed him a teasing smile. “But we can get started out here.”

His cock was already rock hard and sliding between the cheeks of her ass. It was pretty safe to say that Battle had already gotten started. Even through the fabric of his underwear, her ass felt great! He could only imagine how good it would feel to actually fuck her in the ass for real. 

“That bag you brought is in the bedroom.” He reminded her. Hands grabbing at her butt cheeks again, squeezing them around his cock. Lifting up her bottom, then pushing her back down. Using her lower body to stroke his own dick. “How are we gonna get started with all your ‘supplies’ so far away?”

In answer to that, Mara crawled up his body, grabbed a fist-full of his curly hair, and glared at his right in the eyes. “I don’t need tools to make a man my bitch.”

Fuck! That should not have made him as horney as if did! 

Why did getting pushed around and dominated by this tiny little hero turn him on so much? She was almost half his size, probably 90 pounds soaking wet, and a hero! But all Battle wanted her to do was shove him against various items of furniture, and command him to do naughty things with her deliciously female parts. He was kinda, low key, hoping she would climb half onto the back of the couch and shove her pussy in his face again. Those panties didn’t cover much. All he had to do was just shift the fabric to the side a little bit…

Battle’s hips bucked slightly. Excited for what she might do to him next. 

“You like that?” Mara asked, in a soft –almost soothing- whisper. “You like getting your hair pulled?”

Battle grit his teeth and said nothing. Yeah, like he was gonna admit to liking getting pushed around by a tiny little hero!

Mara yanked harder and he let out a little keen of desperation. Yes. He did like getting his hair pulled. Who would have thought? 

“I didn’t hear you.” Mara growled, voice low, and sultry, and smoldering. 

If Battle hadn’t already been rock hard, the sound of her voice alone would have pushed him over the edge of desire. Fuck! How did she manage to keep doing this to him? Why did he like it so much? He liked being pushed around by her. He liked her dictating the pace of their love making. –Fucking, he corrected himself. Not ‘love making’. He liked her dictating the pace of their fucking. 

Readjusting her hand in his hair, Mara yanked his head back, forcing him to look up at her standing over him. The gold of her nipple piercings catching the city lights outside. Shit. He should have closed the balcony curtains before they started this. 

“You like getting your hair pulled.” She said again. This time it wasn’t a question. It was an assertion of fact. 

Battle found himself having to swallow a lump of nerves that had formed in his throat. “I like it when you pull my hair.” 

“Just me?” She asked. 

To spite being half out of his mind from desire, with a beautiful woman wearing nothing but tiny panties on top of him, Battle couldn’t help the mocking smirk that pulled at his lips. “Prior to meeting you, I took issue with people trying to hurt me.”

Battle didn’t know what it was about that statement, but her expression changed. Less playful, more serious. Mara let go of his hair and flopped back down on the couch next to him. 

“That’s the thing.” She said. “This isn’t supposed to be hurting you. If I’m hurting you, you’re supposed to use the safe word. If you use the safe word, I’ll stop.”

That. Right there. That was the reason Battle liked it when she did these things to him but took issue with similar treatments from anyone else. Yes, there was a significant difference in context. But the main reason was, Mara had no malicious intension of hurting him, and in fact, had a system in place to stop her rough play if she went too far. Mara made Battle feel safe. Safe enough to surrender. There was comfort in surrender. In letting someone else take charge of things. 

That was what Battle liked about the things Mara did to him. 

“I don’t want you to stop.” He told her. 

She smiled again. That lopsided, almost predatory, grin. Full of sultry mischief and silent promises of pleasure and pain in equal measure that fill Battle with excitement. Mara climbed back on top of him, her hands fisting in his hair again. Pulling hard. Forcing him to meet her eyes. 

“Say you like it!” She commanded. 

Battle hissed in excitement. Trying to suppress a moan. His voice was thick and husky when he obeyed. “I like it.”

“Yeah…?” She pulled harder. Damn. She could rip his hair out if she wanted to. “You like getting pushed around by a girl?”

“Yes.” Battle moaned, unabashed, and unashamed. He did like being pushed around by a woman. He liked women who knew what they wanted. He liked women who were in control. “Push me around.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She snapped. 

“Please push me around?” Battle amended. 

“That’s a good boy.” Mara smiled, running her fingers through his hair. Not pulling this time. Just gently stroking. Almost petting. Like rewarding a pet. “Beg for it.”

“Please push me around.” He repeated. 

“A little stiff.” Mara commented. But she was also rubbing against his cock when she said it, so it was difficult to tell if the comment was a critique of his begging, or taunting about his erection. “But you’ll get better with practice.”

Ah. So, it was a critique of his begging. 

Mara adjusted her position, laying across his lap. “Carry me to your bedroom.”

Battle stared down at her. Draped across his lap. Naked except for her panties. The city lights catching on her nipple piercings. That tiny pink triangle of fabric and lace the only thing hiding the lips of her sex from him. 

“That was a command.” She informed him, voice impatient. “If you’re gonna be my sub, you’re gonna have to be quicker on the up-take. Are you this slow when you go on your bad guy missions?”

“I don’t have sexy, naked, flame throwers draping themselves over me on my missions.” Battle informed her. 

She did not seem impressed. Mara just looked at him expectantly. Hazel eyes impatient. “You can either carry me to your bedroom, or I can drag you.”

The suggestion sent a little thrill through him. “I, uh, I think I’d like the second one…”

That impatient look melted into the predatory smile. She liked the second option too. 

Levitating out of his lap, Mara grabbed a fistful of Battle’s hair and pulled him off the couch. He hissed at the rough treatment. Smiling with teeth bared. A strange expression of mingled pain and pleasure. Still floating, using her power of flight to make up for their difference in height, Mara dragged Battle across the living room to his bedroom, pulling on his curly hair like a leash. 

They were almost at the bed when she finally let go of him. 

Mara picked up the bag she’d brought. Not her absurdly over-sized purse, the other bag she’d brought. She threw it at Battle, and he just barely managed to catch it before the thing impacted him in the chest. It was heavier than he expected. Feeling the canvas, it felt like there were a number of long but thin objects in it. 

Leaving Battle holding her bag and standing there confused, Mara settled down on his bed and stretched out. Stretching out like she owned the place. Lounging like royalty on his imitation silk pillows (Battle had changed the bedding in preparation for tonight). 

“Look in there and take out whatever you wanna play with tonight.” She commanded. 

He hesitated again. Blinking at her. 

“Whatever you feel comfortable experimenting with.” Mara clarified. 

Setting the bag down at the foot of the bed, Battle unzipped it and opened the bag. 

The first thing he saw were straps. Four of them. Bright red vinyl and shiny, with heavy buckles and grommets going all the way from one end to the other so that it could be tightened almost all the way to the buckle itself. Under the straps was coiled up rope. Smooth textured and silky, the kind of rope that did not chafe skin. Under the rope was what looked like an innocent eye-mask, like the kind a person might sleep in. Except, instead of a flimsy elastic band to hold it on the head, there was a heavy leather buckle, to pull it tighter and hold it on the face harder. 

Under the mask was a long stick with a red feather at the end of it. Another long stick that was decidedly less gentle looking –a riding crop. Battle found himself swallowing at that. Under the riding crop was a red vinyl paddle. Then a wooden paddle. Candles made of red wax, they had an odd texture to them. Scented oils and lotions. Various lubricants, flavored, warming, cooling, tingling. And condoms with different textures, ribbed, bulbed, knotted, tickled. 

It was a bit much for Battle. He had to take a breath before he could actually choose anything. 

“This is stuff you’re gonna use on me?” He asked. 

“That’s the general idea.” Mara nodded. 

He looked back at the contents of the bag. 

“I’m, uh, I’m still new to all of this.” Battle reminded her. He picked up two of the red straps. They were similar enough to his bet she tied him up with before that he felt comfortable with them. He also took out the feather on the stick. Battle could only imagine that being used to tickle, and that seemed non-threatening enough. The eye-mask was equally non-threatening, he pulled that out too. Also, all of the lube options she brought. Maybe she would let him fuck her ass. If she did, they would need the lubricant. “I, uh, I guess this stuff.”

She crawled to the foot of the bed. Moving slowly, arching her back as she moved so that her ass stuck up and wiggled provocatively with every movement. Mara pushed the bag and the rest of its contents off the edge of the bed. It fell on the floor with a loud CLUNK. She picked up the eye-mask first. 

“You’re taller than me. Bend down.” Mara commanded. 

Obediently, Battle knelt at the foot of his bed, moving the bag to the side to make room for his knees. 

He was expecting Mara to violently seize his head again and force him into the eye-mask. Instead, she very gently tilted his face down, lining the mask up over his eyes and wrapping the strap behind his head, careful to go around his ears instead of over them. When she tightened the buckle, she did it slowly, pausing at every other hole to give him a chance to use the safe word and tell her it was too tight. When Battle didn’t object, she fastened it as tight as it would fit around his head, and closed the buckle. 

That done, she placed a finger under his chin and tilted his head up. “Can you see anything?”

“No.” He informed her. 

Mara smirked. She moved the rest of the items he pulled out of the bag out of the way so that there wasn’t anything he could trip on or get himself tangled up in. “Climb up on the bed.”

Battle obeyed, moving slowly. His hands sweeping the sheets in front of his to make sure he wasn’t crawling over any of the items Mara already moved out of the way for him. He perched on the edge of his bed, awaiting her next command. 

Mara slid off the mattress, taking the items with her. “Crawl to the head of the bed and lay down.”

He moved slowly since he couldn’t see. Battle ran his hands over the bedding before taking a movement. His arms making wider and wider sweeps each time. 

“Where did you go?” He asked when he didn’t feel her on the bed anymore. 

“I’m here.” Mara assured him, voice low and soothing. Just above a whisper. The kind of voice one might use when tucking a loved one into bed for the night. The statement, however, was punctuated by her wrapping one of the straps between her hands and snapping the vinyl, making a loud sound. 

Battle flinched, head turning at the snap in the air. He blinked behind the eye-mask, unable to see her, and wondering what she was doing and what he’d actually agreed to. 

“Lay down.” Mara commanded. 

Battle laid on his back. 

“Spread your arms.” She added. 

He stretched his arms across the bed. 

Floating over him, Mara used the vinyl straps to tie Battle to the frame of his headboard. One arm on each side this time, not together. So that his strength was divided and the strain wouldn’t be in one place. It would be harder for him to pull the headboard off the wall. Harder for him to free himself. Mara pulled them tight, then waited to see if he was going to object. When he didn’t, she fastened the buckles. 

“Can you move your arms?” She asked. 

Battle yanked on the straps and found that Mara left him very little slack. “No.”

“Is it too tight?” Mara asked.

“No.” This time his answer was challenging. 

He heard the soft scraping and clinking of small bottles being arranged on his bedside table. Mara going through the bottles and tubes of lube he’d taken out. It was then that it occurred to Battle that her orders were to take out the things he wanted her to use on him, not for him to use on her. He heard her drum her nails on the bedside table, probably thinking of how he wanted her to use the lube on him. Last time they had sex, her pussy was plenty wet. They sure as hell didn’t need any lube to have vaginal sex. 

“Are you into pegging?” She asked. “Because I don’t have any tools for that.”

“I, um, I don’t know what that is.” He confessed. 

Mara smirked, knowing full well he couldn’t see the expression. “If you were into pegging, you’d know what it is.” She informed him. “Why’d you take out all the lube? Do you need the cooling? Am I too hot for you?”

Battle felt himself blush behind the eye-mask. 

He felt the feather ghost over his chest, tickling his nipples. “I can’t use something on you if you don’t tell me how you want it.”

Battle hissed at the tickling sensation of the feather. Damn. Why did he pick something that would tickle? “I…” He began, unsure. She had him tied up. He was at her mercy. What would she do if she didn’t like his answer? Well, he did promise her no secrets. “I was thinking of using it on you.” He finally confessed. “I… I like your ass. I’ve liked your ass since we first met. I wanna fuck you in the ass.”

There was a beat of silence. 

Battle couldn’t see her face. He had no idea what his confession sparked in her. Was she disgusted? Angry? Insulted? Turned off? No longer attracted to him? Was she going to untie him, pack up all her stuff and leave? 

He heard her nails drum on his bedside table again. She was thinking.

“I’ve…” She hesitated. Wait. Did he make her uncomfortable? After everything they already did together. After everything he let her do to him. Battle finally managed to make Mara uncomfortable. “I’ve never… done it in my butt before. I… I don’t think… I don’t know… what to do…”

Damn. He wished he wasn’t blindfolded right now. He wanted to see her awkward-embarrassed face. 

“Maybe… maybe not tonight.” She said. “I, um, I was planning on dominating you. I don’t think… I mean, me bottoming for anal sex would place you in the dominant position.”

Mara sounded so, so very uncomfortable. She must be blushing like crazy. Face a bright red. Battle wished he could see her. He pulled on the straps, wanting to pull off the eye-mask keeping him blindfolded. But the vinyl held. He had no use of his hands. 

He also noted that Mara did not actually say ‘no’ to letting him fuck her in the ass. She said ‘not yet’. 

“If you’ve never had a dick up your ass before, we’ll have to loosen you up first.” He told her, wondering if the information might make her more uncomfortable and wishing he could watch the expression on her face. 

There was another silent pause. 

Finally, Mara spoke again. “Okay. I’ll teach you how to be an obedient sub, and as a reward, I’ll let you fuck my ass. Sometimes.”

That was a better reaction than he was hoping for. That wasn’t a no, or a maybe. That was a yes. It was a ‘yes, but not tonight’. That was better. Besides, if she’d never been fucked in the ass before, that meant that Battle was going to have to train her hole a little bit. Loosen her up before he could fit his cock in her. Her pussy was so tight around him, and that was meant to take an erect cock. He could only imagine how tight her ass must be. 

Battle felt the feather ghost over his skin again. Traveling down his chest, over his abs, around his erection, to tickle his thighs. 

“For tonight,” Mara said, “it’ll just be about what I want.”

“And what do you want?” Battle asked. 

“Spread your legs.” She commanded, and the smirk was evident in her voice. “You’re not a nun.”

Obediently, Battle spread his legs. 

He felt the feather slide from the top of his thighs to the inside. It tickled the sensitive skin there, ghosting over his balls. He felt the feather even through his underwear. The unfamiliar sensation making him flinch.

“If you don’t like being tickled, you shouldn’t have chosen a tickling tool.” Mara taunted him. 

The feather skittered down the inside of one leg. Over the bottom of one foot. Then the other. Back up the inside of the other leg. Battle flinched again, kicking the leg that was currently being tickled. 

“Behave yourself.” She commanded. “Or else I’ll tie your legs down too.”

“Yes, ma’am.” It came out as a groan, because he was trying not to gasp or moan. Being threatened to have his legs tied down the same as his arms should not excite him. 

The tickling feather paused. “’Ma’am’?” Mara echoed. “Do I look old enough to be a ‘ma’am’ to you!?”

She demanded this knowing full well that Battle couldn’t see her. 

“Mistress?” Battle ventured. Unsure what the proper for of address was for a female dominant. 

The feather might be soft and gentle, but the plastic stick it was mounted on was not and Battle winced when she brought it down hard on the sensitive skin of his leg with a loud SMACK. “Do you think I’m some ‘other woman’ who sneaks around with married men!? Show some respect!”

“Sorry.” Battle was quick to apologize, still not sure what he was supposed to call her. “…My Lady?”

There was another pause. 

Then Mara sighed. “Eh. That’ll do for now.”

He felt the feather again. Sliding between his thighs, tickling around the hems of his underwear. Traveling back up his body. Pittering over his pectorals, making his nipples hard. Battle give a giggle at the sensation. Then a groan at just how weak that made him sound. 

“Look at the big bad supervillain.” Mara taunted. “Tied up and helpless, at the mercy of a tiny little hero.”

“And what is the hero’s mercy?” He asked. 

So far, all she’d done after tying his up and blindfolding him, was just tickle him with a feather. Not very exciting. Battle was expecting something a little more… sexy. Something involving hands on body parts that were not seen in public. He was expecting more attention to his cock. Or her, sitting on his face and forcing him to service her orally. That’s what Battle was expecting. 

“Whatever I want.” That whisper was right next to his ear. Battle could feel the heat of her breath on his skin. 

It sent a shiver down his spine. 

A warm weight settled on the bed next to him. Mara stretching out and getting comfortable on the mattress. 

Battle felt the stick of the feather lay across his belly. Then Mara’s hand on his chest. One finger tracing the line of his collarbone. The outside of his pectoral. Curving under the muscle. Then making its way back up pinch at his hard nipple. Battle gasped at the sensation. 

Her hand paused there a moment longer. Holding the bud of flesh between her fingers. Twisting slightly. Pulling on it gently. Before finally letting go and moving her hand to the other side and giving the second one a similar treatment. 

“What happened to the feather?” Battle asked, trying not to moan. The question came out as more of a whimpering groan as a result. 

“The poor feather got bored.” She informed him. Again, whispering close to his skin. Breath feeling hot against him. Making Battle feel tingly all over. 

“Bored?” He asked, voice sounding whiny even to his own ears. Did he, like, miss the feather or something? Was being tickled somehow better than having a hot woman play with his nipples. 

He felt her warmth and weight –what little weight she had- as she crawled on top of him. Straddling his legs, the juncture of her thighs close enough to his erection for him to feel the heat of her sex, but not quite close enough for him to rub any part of it against her. Mara’s hands drifted down his torso, her nails leaving trails in his chest hair. Traveling lower, and lower, until her fingers hooked in the waistband of his underwear. 

“Your body is nice.” She told him. “But it’s so~o boring!” Her hands left the waistband of his underwear without taking them off or reaching inside to give any kind of attention to his erection. Instead, Mara’s palms made another norther journey. Over his toned abs and sculpted chest. “All this lovely hair and muscle. Such a perfect male specimen. And not a single tattoo, piercing, or scar.”

“Can’t scar.” Battle told her. “Heal too fast for scars.”

“That’s so unfair.” Mara growled. 

“You don’t have any scars either.” Battle informed her. He had seen her naked. He had seen every inch of her body. She didn’t have any scars that he could see. 

“I’ve got scars.” She informed him. “I just cover mine up with makeup.”

“Oh?” Under the eye-mask, Battle raise his eyebrows. “Where do you have scars?”

“My face, mostly.” She answered. Sitting on his legs almost lazily. As if the sex-play and been put on pause and they were making just making normal conversation. “Acne scars. Ma always told me not to pick at them, but you know when you’re a teenager you never listened to your mother. What does she know? She’s old. You’re young and you’ve got all the answers.”

“I… always listened to my mother.” Battle informed her. 

He felt uncomfortable talking about his mother while he was tied to his bed, in naught but his underwear, with a partial erection, and an equally mostly-naked woman on top of him. Nothing killed a boner faster than talk of mommy. 

“Hey now!” Her hand closed around his cock. The fabric of his underwear bunching around his shaft as she gave him a couple strokes through the fabric. “Stay with me, buddy.”

Battle gave a moan of appreciation. He didn’t think she’d give his cock any attention until she was ready to put it inside her. 

Hooking her fingers back in the waistband of his underwear, she pulled it off. He was finally naked now. 

Her hands returned to his erection. Her palms warm and soft as she stroked him. Up and down. With slow, purposeful strokes. A slight twist on the up-stroke. “I didn’t give you permission to lose interest, Bambi.”

“I’m not a Bambi.” He muttered. 

“No… you’re just a timid little boy who always listened to his Mama.” She snarked. “Why don’t you prove to me you’re a stag instead.” 

“Hop on and I’ll show you I’m hung like a stag.” Battle promised. 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Mara gave his cock an uncomfortably tight little squeeze. She already knew how well he was hung. The fact that his organ was in her hands, he’d been inside her once already. It was nothing new.

He groaned at the sensation. It was uncomfortable. But not entirely unpleasant. 

“Ya know what…” He heard her ask before her body shifted on top of him. Battle couldn’t see what she was doing, but her weight left the bed for a moment. She didn’t leave. He could still feel the heat radiating off her body. She just wasn’t one his anymore. Floating above him maybe. “No more talking from you.”

That was the only warning he got before Mara stuffed a wad of fabric in his mouth. It was small and tasted like pussy juice. When he ran his tongue over it, he felt lace. Did she- did she just shove her panties in his mouth? 

“I do what I want.”

Battle thought he should spit out the fabric and point out that if he was gagged, then he couldn’t very well use the safe word. Could he. But then he felt her lower herself back down over his lap. Her thighs parted right over his stiff cock. The wetness of her sex dripping on his tip. Then Battle decided he did not want to say anything more that would delay getting his cock inserted into her hot, wet, pussy. 

He sighed with appreciation through a mouthful of panties when she slid onto his stiff erection. 

Mara was just as tight, and hot, and wet as the first time they did it. Only this time, he was ready for her tightness and her heat. He could last longer. He wasn’t ready to cum three thrusts in. 

Battle bucked his hips, pressing himself deeper into her. 

She moaned with her own appreciation, rocking back and forth. Wiggling his member inside her. Making sure his thick shaft hit all the spots she liked. Every nerve and sensory cluster that had her keening and squirting. Battle felt her fluids trickling between his thighs as she rocked and bounced with their motions. 

Pulling against the restraints, Battle tried to reach for her. To caress her. Fondle her. Feel any part of her body other than where they were already connected. Before, without the blindfold, at least he could see her breasts bounce. Her hair fall over her face was she moved her head. Her smile as she rode him. The way her eyes pinched shut when she came. Battle couldn’t see any of that with the eye-mask on. He couldn’t see her. With the straps binding his wrists to the bed, he couldn’t touch her. 

The only way to know she was there, that she was real. Was the tight heat squeezing his cock. 

Moving over his hips. 

Spreading her wetness over his hips, and thighs, and legs, and belly. 

Making them both sloppy from enjoyment. 

Mara rocking on his lap, moving him inside her. 

Him, thrusting up. Hitting all her spots. Crashing against the entrance to her cervix deep inside her. 

Pushing her to a climax. 

Moaning and squirting. 

Mara braced her palms on his pectorals, propping herself up. Body trembling from the force of her orgasm. Breathing hard. She smiled at him, then realized that he was still wearing the eye-mask and couldn’t see. 

Lifting herself up, Mara slid off his cock and climbed up his body. Reaching behind his head, she unbuckled the strap holding the mask over his eyes. Pulling it off, he blinked rich brown eyes at her. 

“I think that was better than last time.” She told him. 

Battle smiled. That was because he lasted longer than last time. Lasted longer, and still hadn’t finished. “Do I need your permission to cum?” 

Mara smiled back at him. “You’re learning.”


	7. New Experiences

Again, it was the heat under the blankets that woke Battle in the morning. Mara’s body radiating warmth like a roaring hearth. 

With a bit of a frustrated groan, Battle kicked the comforter off the bed and cuddled up to her with only the sheet covering them. 

She was still fast asleep. Laying on her side, back to him. Body curved and knees bent so that her tiny form fit against him perfectly. Like two puzzle pieces locking together. Or a small spoon resting inside a larger spoon. Battle nuzzled her red hair with his nose, with his thighs pressed into the swell of her ass. Waking up to a beautiful woman in the morning was the best feeling in the world, and he savored it. 

Mara let out a cute little sleep-sound that was halfway between sensual moan, and sloppy, un-feminine snore. She rolled over, burying her face in Battle’s chest hair. Her knees just barely missing his balls by centimeters. Waking up to a beautiful woman was great. Having her turn and almost kick you in the balls in her sleep… not so much. 

“Are you gonna make me breakfast again?” He felt more than heard her mutter into his chest. 

“You’re awake?” Battle tried to look down at her, but all he got was an eyeful of bright red bed-head. 

In answer to this question, one hand drifted down to grip his partially erect morning wood. Squeezing slightly and stroking gently to turn his ‘partial’ into a ‘full’. “Something poked me in the back.”

An embarrassingly loud moan escaped him. Her hand was squeezing just tight enough to make him feel enveloped, but not tight enough to cause discomfort. Her stroke, pulling his foreskin over his shaft in just the right way. Mara knew just how to touch him in all the right ways. Battle had to clench his teeth to stave off another moan. It came out as a heavy pant when he tried to speak again. 

“Are you- ngh –gonna eat my cum again?” He managed to gasp out. 

“That’s depends…” Mara muttered into his chest, breath tickling his chest hair. “What do you have to serve it on?”

It was hard to form words with her stroking him like that. Her hand was warm and soft. Her movements measured and purposeful. Her body pressed against his… This was the fucking best way to wake up in the morning! But it also made forming sentences difficult. Battle had to give himself a moment to just pant and enjoy her attentions for a moment before his brain would allow him to answer her question. 

“Leftovers from last night’s dinner.” He informed her, voice thick and heady. A sexy bedroom voice, that sounded out of place and wasted on a mundane and domestic statement about breakfast. 

“Aw…” She sounded disappointed. “Last time you made me pancakes.”

“Ngh…” To spite her apparent disappointment, her hand did not stop its motion and Battle had to grit his teeth against the sensation to inform her. “Last time I did not have a refrigerator full of food that needs to be eaten. For breakfast, we’re gonna have leftovers. If you’re still here around lunch time, that will also be leftovers too. Tonight’s dinner will be leftovers again. I’m not in the habit of wasting food, and you shouldn’t be either.”

“Wow.”

Her hand didn’t just stop. It left his dick entirely. 

Mara climbed out of bed. Apparently, the sexy play was over. 

What- what had just happened? Why did she stop? Was she mad at him or something? Disappointed that he wouldn’t make something new for her when there was already plenty of ready-made and perfectly edible food in the kitchen? She was an intelligent woman, she had to understand that it was wasteful to ignore leftovers and keep making new food. 

Battle just stared at her as she reached a hand to fish around the pillows for her discarded panties. 

“You sound like my dad.” She informed him. 

Oh. Well, that wasn’t sexy at all. Battle totally understood her not wanting to stroke his cock while he was delivering dad-lectures. 

She found her panties and pulled them on over her wide hips. 

“I think your dad and I would have gotten along.” Battle said, not actually meaning the words. 

As a general rule, he did not get along with many people. He was standoffish and aloof the vast majority of the time, and occasionally outright hostile. Definitely not the kind of attitude one wanted to have when dealing with the father of the woman you were fucking. Luckily for Battle, Burnhawk was dead and there was no way to know how they would have gotten along. Battle could say literally anything about a hypothetical relationship with Mara’s father and there was no way to prove it wrong. 

“Ugh. You would have.” She groaned. “Dad got along with everyone! Even some of the villains in his rogues gallery liked him. You know that some of them sent him holiday cards from prison! Very respectful, hand made, secular cards. Because they knew he didn’t celebrate Christmas.”

Sitting up in bed, Battle just blinked at her. His father had been a hero too, but Paladin never got any kind of greeting cards from any of the people he put away. 

“How did they get the cards to your father?” He asked. “I can’t imagine any hero –no matter how naïve and trusting- giving away their home address to enemies.”

Just as these words were leaving his mouth, Battle remembered that Mara had given him her real name, phone number, and home address the first time they met. She was a hero. She gave a villain all the information he needed to murder her and her whole family. But Mara didn’t know he was a villain then. Surely Burnhawk wouldn’t give out that information to people he knew were villains! People he fought. People he put away. 

“Oh, no, no, no.” Mara was quick to assure him, shaking her head. “They sent them to a police prescient in East Ridge. My parents were never big name, or famous heroes. They’re ‘friendly neighborhood’ types. Most of their rogues came from the same –or surrounding- neighborhoods. There’s only, like, five or six precincts in all of East Ridge.”

Battle just continued to stare at her. 

“C’mon, don’t look so surprised.” She scoffed. “I’m sure loads of heroes get thank you letters and greeting cards from rehabilitated villains.”

Battle didn’t socialize with many heroes –none, actually, aside from Mara- but he was pretty sure loads of heroes did not receive thank you letters and greeting cards from their villains. Letter bombs, maybe. 

Not wanting to make an argument out of it, Battle climbed out of bed. “I better start heating up your breakfast.”

Crossing the room to his dresser, he pulled out a pair of fresh, clean sweatpants. Battle felt the heat on his shoulder before a strand of Mara’s redder-than-red hair fell across his field of vision. He looked up to see her hovering over him, peering down at his clothes. 

“Do you wear anything other than black?” She asked. 

His underwear was black. His sweatpants were black. His leather jacket, jeans, and band shirts were all black. His super costume was black. 

“My jacket on our first date was red.” He told her, remembering the burgundy blazer he’d worn to impress her. Battle liked that blazer. He thought it made him look like a secret agent. 

“Dark red.” Mara scoffed. And his dress shirt, slacks, shoes, underwear, and socks had all been black. “Do you always dress like a villain? Like, do you even have villain pajamas?”

Of the two nights she spent with him, Battle hadn’t worn pajamas. So it was a valid question. 

Battle pulled on the sweats he’d taken out. “What are ‘villain pajamas’?”

Mara floated around to sit in front of him on his dresser. Crossing one leg in front of the other so that little triangle of fabric disappeared behind olive skin. If it weren’t for the lace straps, one could easily believe she was naked again. “I donno.” She said, leaning forward into his personal space. Her face close to his face. Lips almost brushing his chin. “What do villains wear to bed?”

“What if villains don’t wear anything to bed…?” He breathed back. 

Eyes lowering slowly, then, just as slowly coming up again, Mara gave his body a hungry look. She slipped one hand inside the waistband of his sweats and pulled him close to her. So close, his knees banged into the dresser. “I think I like villain pajamas.”

With a hand under Mara’s chin, Battle tilted her face up. He leaned down and for the first time Battle initiated a kiss. A real kiss. Not the modest and chase brushing of lips against lips that he’d given her in the park. This time his mouth was open, inviting her in. There was no hesitation when her tongue slithered out to explore him, he slid his tongue along hers. 

Mara was the first to pull away. “That was nice. But maybe we should brush our teeth before kissing first thing in the morning.”

Battle flushed with embarrassment. 

Lifting back up off the dresser, Mara floated over him to her duffle bag and purse –both of which had been left on the floor at the foot of the bed. She reached an arm inside her purse, fishing around inside it. She pulled out her superhero costume, wallet, keys, chapstick, lipstick, makeup compact, breath mints, a granola bar, mirror compact, tampons and sanitary napkins, a stick-pen from a bank, band-aids, a travel package of tissues, Walkman and headphones, hand lotion, hand sanitizer, perfume, hair scrunchy, and a fresh pair of clean panties, before she finally pulled out a toothbrush, tube of toothpaste, deodorant stick, and a travel bottle of facial cleanser. She set the toothbrush, paste, deodorant, and cleanser to the side and shoved everything else back in the purse. 

Battle stood staring. Marveling at everything she carried around with her in that giant thing. She had everything in there but a kitchen sink. 

Scooping up her toiletries, Mara exited the bedroom. 

Still in a bit of an awestruck daze, Battle followed her into the bathroom. “I do have toothpaste and soap here, ya know.”

“I never said you didn’t.” She called from the bathroom, already laying out her toiletries next to one of the sinks –next to Battle’s sink. The condo was a two bedroom one bath, but it was a large bathroom with a whirlpool bathtub (the kind with jets like a Jacuzzi), and twin ‘his and her’ sinks. In all his years living in the condo, Battle had never used the second sink. Now there actually was a woman in his bathroom, using the sink to wash her face and brush her teeth, and she was using the wrong sink! 

Mara spit out a mouthful of frothy toothpaste. “Aren’t you gonna freshen up too?”

“I’m waiting for you to finish.” He told her honestly. 

She looked confused. “There’s a second sink.”

“Yes, but this one’s mine.” Battle told her, resting one hand on the counter close to the rim of the basin. Almost possessively, like he was marking his territory or something. 

Cupping both her hands under the faucet, Mara raised handfuls of water to her mouth and rinsed. Swishing the water around in her mouth until she was confident she’d gotten all the pasty froth off. Then spat. She used one of his fluffy black hand towels to dry her mouth with. 

“I didn’t realize a bathroom sink was such a big deal.” She offered a teasing smile. 

Face freshly washed, Battle could see what she was talking about the previous night. Looking closely, her olive skin was not as perfect and blemish free as it looked on their dates, in the dim light of a bedroom, or when she was in her hero costume. She didn’t have any freckles. Or tan lines around where she wore her mask. But there were spots and marks. Not from sun damage. Scars. Small, dot-like scars, from acne. Just like she said. 

“What’s wrong?” Mara asked when Battle had stared at her for longer than would be considered normal. “Did I miss a spot? Is there still soap on my face?”

“No, I-“ He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. This was probably his first time actually seeing her without makeup. Her skin wasn’t flawless, her eyes weren’t actually that big, her lashes weren’t as full as they looked, and her lips weren’t as pouty. Mara Peace looked kind of… plain. 

But it was a natural plainness. It made her seem more real. Less like the mythic ‘ideal woman’, and more like a real person. Someone he could touch, and feel. Someone who lived a life and worked a job. A real person. 

“Sink’s free now.” Mara told him, moving out of the way. 

She stood to the side and leaned against the counter. 

“Are you just gonna watch me brush and wash?” He asked, feeling self-conscious. He was not very graceful when it came to washing his face, and splashed water and soap all over the counter. 

“You watched me brush and wash.” Mara informed him. “It’s only fair.”

Yeah, but she was graceful and pretty. He was a sloppy mess. 

Mara crossed her arms under her breasts and lifted her chin, urging him on. A clear indicator that she wasn’t going anywhere and he better wash up or else no more kissing. 

Suppressing a groan, Battle turned the water back on and splashed his face. He grabbed his own soap and rubbed it directly onto his face. The rough shadow of his morning facial hair helping to lather.

“Bar soap?” Mara sounded almost judgmental. 

“I’m not fancy.” He told her. 

Setting the bar down, Battle rinsed his hands so that they weren’t slippery when he opened the ‘His’ medicine cabinet and pulled out his razor. An old fashioned straight razor with a white stag-horn handle. Using the bar soap in place of shaving cream, Battle dragged the razor across his skin. Shaving off the course shadow, smoothing down his cheeks and chin. He felt a little nervous with Mara watching him and Battle wasn’t gentle. He cut himself more than he usually did, coloring the soap pink and red with his own blood. 

Lucky for him, he healed fast. By the time he dipped his face down to get closer to the faucet and splash water to rinse, the cuts were completely healed. 

He chanced a glance at Mara to see what she thought. If she was disgusted. If she thought he was gross. Shaving was not sexy. Shaving was not hot. Shaving was not attractive. The results of personal hygiene and grooming were very pleasing, but the processes themselves were not. 

But Mara did not look disgusted. In fact, she looked curious. Interested. 

Still feeling awkward, Battle reached for his toothbrush. Wetted it. Put paste on the brush. Then wetted it a second time. Then felt stupid because he had an audience and she just watched him wet his toothbrush twice. He continued to feel self-conscious as the paste frothed in his mouth, oozed out from the corners of his mouth, dripped down his freshly shaved chin into the sink. He was sloppy. Mara probably thought he was gross. 

Finally, he rinsed, spat, and looked back up at her. 

Mara did not look disgusted like he expected. 

Instead, she closed the space between them, leaned up –floating a bit to compensate for their height difference- and pressed her lips to his. Mouth open. Tongue sliding in. Her toothpaste had been cinnamon flavored while Battle’s was spearmint. The two flavors mixed oddly together, but it was still much more enjoyable than their morning breath had been. 

“Much better.” Mara muttered when their lips parted again. 

Battle nodded. Kissing after freshly brushed teeth was much, much better than kissing first thing in the morning before brushing their teeth. 

“Now, I… don’t wanna sound rude when I say this, but… can you leave?” He asked. “The bathroom. Can you leave the bathroom? I need to pee and while shaving and brushing teeth is one thing, I don’t think we’re quite there yet.” 

“Bashful bladder?” She teased. 

“Out.” Battle snapped. 

She giggled when he shut the door behind her. 

Battle wiped down the counter. Cleaning up all the soap and droplets he spattered around. He scooped his shavings out of the basin before they could go down the drain. The sink and surrounding counter looked show-room new before he turned around to lift the toilet seat to pee. 

When he emerged from the bathroom, hands well washed and as showroom clean as everything else in his home, it was to find Mara sitting at the kitchen bar. An open tupperwear container in front of her. A fork in one hand. A ball of flame in the other. It looked like she was grilling a bite of vegetable over her fire. Warming one side while all out blackening the other. 

“Are you using your superpowers to heat up the leftovers?” He asked, coming up beside her. That was definitely what it looked like. 

“I couldn’t find your microwave.” Mara said by way of explanation. 

“I don’t have one.” Battle informed her. “I cook my food. Like people are supposed to.” 

She sighed, shaking her head. “You are so weird.” And popped the bite of burned vegetable into her mouth. 

Taking one of the baking dishes from the previous night out of the dishrack, Battle scooped the vegetables she was eating out of the tupperwear and into it. He then turned on the oven and popped it in. 

“I was eating that.” Mara informed him tersely. 

“You’ll like it better when its warmed properly.” He promised her. For himself, Battle took out the second steak and threw that in as well. Just setting the meat directly on the oven rack, no pan or dish under it. 

Mara flexed one arm, the whole limb erupting into bright red flames. “I’m perfectly capable of warming my own food.”

“You were burning it.” Battle pointed out. 

“So?” She did not seem to think this was a problem. “That just means its cooked.”

Battle did not realize it until she said it, but those words were an offense to everything he’d been raised to believe about domestic living. Burned food was not ‘cooked’, it was ‘burned’! Blackened charcoal. Stripped of all its nutrients and returned to base its base carbon. Its only redemption to be ground down and used as mulch in his mother’s herb garden. 

“Barron, are you mad?” She blinked at him. Mara couldn’t decide if the odd expression on his face meant he was about to kick her out in a rage, or break down and cry. He looked so offended, but also disbelieving. 

“I…” He didn’t know what to say. Battle didn’t even know what he was feeling. 

Not wanting to wait for him to sort himself out, Mara hopped off the stool she was sitting on and stretched. “Well, so long as you’re holding my breakfast hostage in the oven… I think I’ll take a shower. You sweat a lot and I’m all sticky.”

“I don’t sweat a lot!” Battle was almost insulted. “You’re just too fucking hot!”

“Aw… thank you.” She smiled at him, changing her posture so that her weight was redistributed, sticking one hip out. Drawing attention to her curves. Making her look more feminine, attractive, and… sexy. “You’re pretty hot too.”

He flushed at the complement. Sure, he’d been told he was attractive before. And maybe he believed it was true. After all, the life he lived and the job he worked required him to stay fit. More muscle than fat. He had a generous amount of hair on his chest without being too hairy. Other bed partners in the past had compared him to Tom Sellick without the mustache. So, yes, Battle was aware that he was an attractive man. 

But he’d spent the vast majority of his formative years –his high school years- being made fun of for the way he looked. Being called ‘four eyes’ on account of his glasses. Being called a girl or a fag because of his long-ish curly hair. It was a type of conditioning that still made Battle blush when he was given an honest complement. He didn’t know how to take a complement. Even now that he was in his mid-twenties. 

“I- I meant your body produces a lot of heat.” He felt the need to clarify, even though he was also pretty sure she already knew what he meant. 

“And your body produces a lot of sweat.” She repeated. “Now I’m all sticky.” 

Without waiting to see if he had a comeback, Mara turned. Crossing the living room again on her way back to the bathroom. She stripped off her panties as she moved, leaving them on the living room floor where they dropped. Mara didn’t even look back to see where she left them before shutting the bathroom door behind her. Battle heard the shower turn on and figured Mara would not be coming back out for her underwear.

Crossing the living room, Battle picked up her discarded panties. He cast another assessing glance at the bathroom door. The door was shut firmly and the shower was loud. She probably had the water turned up all the way. She was not about to burst out and demand her panties back. Battle carried the item into his bedroom. Opening a drawer in his bedside table, he deposited the used panties right next to her black lacy number from their first date six months ago. She brought a fresh pair with her in that absurdly huge purse, he saw them when she practically emptied the thing looking for her toothbrush. She wouldn’t miss this one, just like she didn’t miss the black lacy one. 

His treasure safely hidden in his hoard, Battle went back to the kitchen to check on the food he was re-heating. It would be incredibly embarrassing if he burned the food after making a big deal over cooking it properly. 

He turned the vegetables to make sure they were heated evenly. Then checked his steak to make sure it too, was being warmed properly. 

When he was satisfied that everything was warmed to an edible and pleasing temperature, Battle turned off the oven and left the food in it to retain its heat. He then cast an assessing glance across the living room to the bathroom door. It was still closed and the shower was still going. Would it be inappropriate if he invited himself in on Mara’s shower? He liked to be clean just as much as she did. 

Opening the bathroom door just a crack, Battle poked his head in. The whole room was filled with steam. His glasses fogged over and Battle had to take them off to see. It was incredibly hot. Did she even use the cold water tap? 

“May I join you?” He asked. 

“Sure!” Mara called over the sound of the spray. “If you think you can handle the heat.”

He slid off his sweatpants, perhaps a little too eagerly. Pulling back the shower curtain, Battle stepped one foot under the spray and quickly realized that, no, he could not handle the heat. She did not use the cold water tap at all. It was all hot water. Scalding hot water!

“Holy fuck!” He exclaimed, jumping back. He might have slipped were it not for the bathmat covering the floor tiles. 

Mara gave another one of her snort-laughs. “I warned you, fire users like it hot.”

“And I told you, you’re just too fucking hot.” Battle shot back. 

“Aw… the big bad supervillain can’t handle a little bit of heat.” She teased him. 

Turning off the water, Mara stepped out of the shower. Her redder-than-red hair clinging to her neck and shoulders. Curving over her collar bones to frame her small breasts. Droplets of water dripping from the fake gold of her nipple piercings. 

“You kept your hardware in, in the shower?” He said, hoping curiosity about her piercings would hide the fact that he was staring at her breasts. 

“Yeah.” She nodded, grabbing one of his black bath towels. She dabbed her face with it before flipping her wet hair and wrapping the towel around it. She looked back up at him. “Ya know, this is the second time we’ve spent the night together, and yet you haven’t grabbed my boobs once.”

“I… My hands were tied both times.” He reminded her. 

“How rude of me.” Mara muttered. She grabbed both his hands and guided them up to her breasts. “We’ll have to change that.”

Battle stood there, his hands resting where she placed them, exactly how she placed them. Barely cupping her breasts. Wet against his skin and warm in his hands. So warm. They didn’t quite fill his hands. They weren’t that big. But they were perfectly shaped. Round and perky. With dusky nipples that were only sticking out because the piercings made them. 

“Or maybe you just don’t care about my boobs that much.” She said when he still didn’t move his hands to start fondling them. “After all, you’re more of an ass man.”

“I like breasts too.” He told her. 

He just couldn’t stick his cock in breasts, so they were less exciting than other parts of the female body. Battle gave her breasts a gentle squeeze. They were so soft! Battle moved his hands, so that he could touch the barrels through her nipples. But paused just short of his fingers actually brushing the metal. 

“Is there a way I’m supposed to touch these?” He asked. “So I don’t hurt you.”

“Just don’t tug on them.” Mara ordered. “They’re going halfway through a very small and sensitive part of my body. Even a mundane with no superpowers could rip them out if they pull hard enough. That’s why I got barrels instead of rings. People just seem to instinctually tug on rings, barrels not so much.”

He moved his hands back away, not wanting to hurt her accidentally. 

“I like it when they’re twisted.” Mara informed him.

Still moving hesitantly, Battle moved his hands back to her nipples. Taking them between his fingers, he gave a gentle little pinch, then a slight twist. Turning the piercings to the side like the dials on his car stereo. 

Mara gave a soft moan. More of a sigh, really, and leaned in closer to Battle. “You can be a bit rougher, ya know.”

He twisted them farther. Almost a complete circle. Stopping when her soft intake of breath turned into a hiss between her teeth. Battle let go of her breasts completely. 

“I didn’t use the safe word.” She informed him, sounding disappointed. 

“It looked like I was hurting you.” He informed her. 

“If you were hurting me, I’d use the safe word.” Mara reminded him tersely. “That’s what its for. Gosh, you have so much to learn, Bambi.”

She brushed past him and out of the bathroom. 

“I’m not a Bambi!” Battle called after her, following her –also naked- back across the living room and into the kitchen. 

Mara sat back down at the kitchen bar and pulled the –still hot- dish of vegetables to her. Not even bothering with the pretense of a potholder. Fire users liked it hot, so why would a burning hot baking dish harm her? 

“No, of course you’re not a Bambi.” Her words seemed to agree, but her tone was patronizing. “You’re just a guy who lost his mother at a young age, still has a lot to learn about things –apparently- and quivers like a nervous baby deer whenever confronted with something new.” She smiled over a bite of vegetable. “Bambi.”

Battle frowned. It was starting to look like he might be stuck with that nickname for the whole of their relationship. Should he just get used to an attractive, naked, woman calling him Bambi semi-regularly? 

Not knowing what else to do, Battle pulled down a plate from a cupboard and served himself his meat like a civilized person. Mara might be fine eating straight out of the baking dish, but he was raised differently. He set down at the kitchen bar next to her. 

Mara shifted her position on the bar stool so that her thigh slid against his. “So, what’d you have planned that would keep me here all day?”

“Huh?” Battle blinked sideways at her through a mouthful of steak, not understanding. 

“You said lunch would be leftovers, and dinner too.” She clarified. “So, what are we gonna be doing that’s gonna keep me here all day?”

Battle swallowed the bite in his mouth and cleared his throat, well aware of the fact that they were both still naked and her thigh was pressed against his. “Well, what did you have in mind?”

She rested her chin in her hand, as if in thought. “Well… I didn’t bring any spare clothes, so whatever we do, it’ll have to be some place with an easy dress code.”

“I think we’ve got a pretty easy dress code right here.” He told her. “But I don’t have any board games or anything. If we’re gonna spend the day inside, we’re gonna have to find ways to entertain ourselves.”

“Mm, what ever shall we do…?” One hand drifted down from the bar to rest softly on his leg. 

Battle felt his face warm and knew he had to be blushing again. He really had to stop doing that. He was never going to shake off the ‘Bambi’ nickname if he kept blushing like an innocent school boy every time she made an advance. Slightly flustered, and not knowing what else to say, Battle just blurted out a response. “Dishes!”

“What?” Mara blinked at him, not understanding. 

“We could do the dishes.” He clarified. 

She just continued to stare at him. “Are you… for real?” Dishes were not sexy. Washing dishes was not sexy. That was nobody’s kink. Well… maybe it was somebody’s kink. But not hers. 

Battle nodded, then quickly wolfed down the rest of his steak and got up to put his plate in the sink. He then eyed the baking dish she was eating directly out of. “Are you done with that?”

The whole moment feeling rather surreal, Mara slid the dish across the bar to him. “Do you have some sort of compulsive disorder or something?”

“What? No.” Battle assured her. “I just think it’s better to do the dishes right away instead of letting them sit in the sink. Can’t have fun sexy times if there’s a sink full of dirty dishes just a few feet away, stinking up the place, and attracting flies.”

He began scrubbing the baking dish vigorously. 

Mara watched him. The way the muscles in his arms rippled under the skin, how hard was he scrubbing that dish? Not a compulsive disorder her ass! But there actually was something nice about an attractive –naked- man washing the dishes. The image actually did appeal to her. Not on a sexual level –although the fact that he was naked was testing that- on a more chase, but equally base level. Something just a hair more domesticated than her ‘primal’ level. It was nice having a man do the cleaning. 

And he must clean a lot. His apartment looked spotless. The only thing out of place in the whole of the living room was her dress which they left crumpled on the floor from the previous night. Everything else was neatly organized. Books on shelves and organized by author. Floor clear, and carpet vacuumed. Furniture arranged at right angles. Coffee table polished to a shine. Battle’s home looked like it was professionally cleaned. Mara always just assumed he paid for a cleaning service. After all, he clearly had the money. But after watching him scrub furiously at the dishes, almost as if someone’s life depended on them being clean, she decided that no, he probably kept this whole place clean by himself. 

“You can dry, if you want.” He told her, holding up the dish he’d just finished rinsing so well that it looked department store new. 

In a bit of a daze, Mara took the baking dish in her hands and lit them on fire.

Battle blinked at her. The dish was dry now, all the water having evaporated off. But where she held it were now soot blackened finger prints. 

For half a second, Mara was concerned he might be angry with her. This seemed like something that was more important to him that just having clean dishes and an empty sink. But to her surprise, he didn’t look angry, Battle looked like he might cry. 

He held his hand out to take the dish back. “There’s a kitchen towel hanging on the oven handle.”

She grabbed the towel and dried off the plate while he re-washed the baking dish. 

When everything was clean to his satisfaction, dried and put away, then Battle finally allowed them to move back to the living room and relax. Flopping down on the couch together. 

Mara cuddled up close to him, running a hand over his chest. Petting his chest hair. “Did you have an activity planned for after dishes?”

He wrapped an arm around her. Running his hand over her shoulder, and down her arm. Around her breast to brush her piercing. “Whatever you’re up for, I suppose…”

She cuddled closer to him, draping one leg over his knees, almost crawling onto his lap. “Just a lazy Saturday in.”

Her thigh was just barely brushing his cock and Battle suddenly found it very distracting. “Mm, yeah… lazy…”

“Just an easy day…?” She trailed her fingers in circles over his chest, making patterns in the hair. “Nothing too… strenuous…”

“We could-“ Battle began to suggest but them stopped himself. He wasn’t sure if Mara would actually be down for what he had in mind. Last night she said ‘not yet’, but ‘not yet’ did not mean ‘in the morning’. ‘Not yet’ meant ‘when I am comfortable with it’. Battle was hesitant to suggest what he wanted. 

“What?” Mara prompted. 

Battle felt himself flush with embarrassment. “We could- if you want –try… that thing I pulled out the lube for.”

She sat up, blinking at him. “Right now?” Now she was blushing almost as much as he was. “In my ass.”

“I wouldn’t put my dick in your ass today.” He assured her. “If you’ve never done it before, we’ll have to train your ass first.”

Looking equal parts uncomfortable and concerned, Mara scooted back from him. “Train? What does that mean?”

“Stretch.” He clarified, feeling just as uncomfortable as she looked. “An ass isn’t like a pussy. I can’t just get it wet and shove my dick in. We need to train it to stretch first otherwise something might tear.”

“I… see…” She looked less concerned. He was approaching this responsibly and with care, like all sexually deviant or possibly dangerous (read: fun) sexual kinks. Just like she did with tying him up. Consent and care. “And so, what do we start with?”

Battle smiled, almost giddy. He was not expecting her to be okay with it. Not so soon. He practically leapt off the couch with excitement. “I’ll grab the lube!”

The collection of bottles and tubes from the previous night was still sitting on the bedside table. Battle gathered them all up in one sweep of his hands and carried them back to the living room. 

“Damn, someone’s eager.” Mara commented. She sounded like she was teasing him. She was smiling, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was still nervous. 

“It’s gonna be great!” He assured her. 

She sat on the edge of the couch, not sure if she should get up, or turn around, or bend over something, or what. So, she just sat upright, her back straight, waiting for him to give her an instruction. 

“Relax.” Battle tried to sooth her. “You’ll clench if you’re nervous.”

Mara offered him a humorless smile. “Kinda hard not to be nervous.”

Setting the collection of lubricants on the coffee table, Battle knelt in front of her. He rested his hands on her knees. “It’s just sex.” He told her. “Just another way to have sex, like you tying me up.” 

Gently, only applying the smallest amount of pressure, Battle spread her knees. He bent his head down and licked at her slit. Tongue sliding over smooth skin. Gently coaxing her to relax. He slithered his tongue past the first layer of folds to lick at her insides, adding his own saliva to the juices inside. 

Mara reclined back into the couch cushions and sighed. This was something that was familiar. Something she was used to and enjoyed. She spread her legs wider, her folds opening up more. Offering Battle better access. 

He lifted her legs over his shoulders, letting her rest her weight on him so that her butt was lifted off the couch. 

Still licking, he fumbled blindly with the tubes and bottles of lube, hoping for any one but the warming one –she was hot enough as it was. He squeezed a generous portion out into his hand and spread it over his fingers. While his tongue lapped at her main entrance, he gently prodded at her back entrance with his slick fingers. 

Battle felt Mara pause when he touched her hole, the muscles of her legs tensing around his shoulders. 

“Sh, sh, relax.” He soothed, spreading the slick lube around her rim. “I’ll go slow.”

“The safe word is ‘sonnet’, she reminded him.” Words a little shallow and breathy. She was equal parts horney and nervous, something which hadn’t happened to her since high school. 

“I’ll stop if you need me to.” He promised. 

Battle returned his tongue to her slit, renewing his attentions until he felt her relax again. Her legs draping over his shoulders, as she sighed with appreciation and moaned with pleasure. Only then did his fingers return to her hole. Spreading more lube around the rim before his index finger –gently- prodded its way inside. But paused when he heard her loud gasp. 

“Too much?” He asked. He was a big guy and her body was so small. His fingers were pretty thick compared to her. But Battle also couldn’t think of what smaller thing to start her off with. 

“It feels like-“ Mara paused, not sure how to describe what she was feeling. It wasn’t pain. It was a kind of discomfort. Sort of like… “-going the wrong direction.”

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked.

She hesitated a moment. Thinking. Mara wiggled her ass on his hand, assessing her level of discomfort. Then she shook her head, not sure if he could see the action from his position between her thighs. “No. Keep going. I’ll use the safe word if I want you to stop.”

He placed a kiss to her slit before pressing his finger in deeper. 

She gasped again, but this time forced herself to relax almost immediately. The tension in her body leaving with a deliberate sigh, and Battle felt his finger slide in the rest of the way of its own accord. He wiggled it around a bit, feeling the tight walls of her unused, virgin hole. The texture, its elasticity. Testing how much it could stretch this first time. 

“I’m going to try putting in another finger.” He told her. 

“Just keep eating me out while you do.” She commanded him in return. 

He pressed his tongue back into her slit, licking down and up. Slithering around. Searching her hood for the delicate bud of nerves. When he found her clit, he sucked on it gently and was rewarded with a deep and throaty moan of appreciation. That was when he drew out the first finger and slid two in, in its place. Index and middle fingers. Easing them in slowly, but not quite as slow as the first time. 

His middle finger was longer and reached farther. Went deeper. Her breath hitched with the sensation. He sucked harder on her clit to distract from any discomfort she might feel. Battle wanted her to associate anal penetration with pleasure, it would make things easier in the future. 

“Don’t suppose you’d wanna stick your cock in me any time soon?” She asked between breaths. 

“I need to stretch you out more.” He told her. “We don’t wanna hurt you.”

Inside her, Battle scissored his fingers, spreading them and bringing them together again, then spreading them. Stretching her out just like he promised. Feeling the resistance of her walls against his fingers and how quickly they returned to their original shape when he relaxed the pressure. She was still so very, very tight. 

“I meant my pussy.” She informed him, panting. “You know I still have a perfectly fuckable pussy already wet and ready that you don’t have to train to take your giant dick.”

“Right.” Battle wouldn’t go so far as to say he ‘forgot’ about her pussy. It was right in front of his face, and it was open, and wet, and drooling on his couch. Very fuckable, indeed, and very inviting. He had just been preoccupied by another hole that it sort of slipped his mind that there was another option for penetration already ready to go. He felt his cock twitch with anticipation at the reminded. Slowly, Battle gently eased his fingers out of her and undraped her legs from his shoulders. He sat on the couch next to her. Cock standing up at full attention. “Climb on.”

Mara was more than happy to comply. She straddled his lap and eased down onto his stiff, erect cock. Sighing with appreciation. “Much better.”

He felt her juices gush out of her as he slid in, filling her up. It trickled between his legs and down his balls, making them sloppy with her arousal. She rocked on his lap, finding that spot deep inside her. Making sure his cock hit it just right. This was what she liked, a fat cock filling her full and hitting her deep. Mara moaned with appreciation. Trying something new was great and all, but nothing beat base sex. Moving enthusiastically with a thick, hard man under her. 

Battle cupped her ass. One hand squeezing one round butt cheek, while the other slithered farther back to prod at her hole again. Slipping his finger back inside, making sure not to lose any of what he’d already stretched. 

She moaned when she felt him press inside. Penetrating her from both sides. She moved her hips, pressing her ass down on his hand, forcing his finger deeper inside. 

“It’s actually better than I was expecting.” She breathed in his ear. A deep and throaty growl of a sound. Heady with her arousal. 

“You like it?” Battle smiled back at her. He had been a little nervous at first. Anal wasn’t for everyone. Those that didn’t like it usually tended to be scared off, never speaking to Battle again. But those that liked it, really, really liked it. Battle was glad that Mara seemed to really like it. 

“Can you…” She hesitated, a little self-conscious and embarrassed by what she was about to ask, “…the other finger?”

The hand that was groping her butt cheek moved up to cup the back of her head. Tilting her face back, he kissed her. Lips sliding against lips, tongue slithering along tongues. She opened for the kiss, her own tongue meeting his with enthusiasm. That was when Battle slipped in the second finger. Sliding it in as his tongue slipped against hers. Cock inside her, fingers inside her, tongue inside her. 

Mara moaned into his mouth. Hips moving in a way that both wiggled his cock around inside her and also forcing those fingers deeper inside her. The sensation of being filled from both ends overwhelming her and she bit his bottom lip when she came. 

“Fuck!” Battle moaned, tasting his own blood as her insides squeezed him. He almost came himself, but managed to hold back. This was amazing and he wanted it to last. “I wasn’t expecting you to come the first time.”

“I wasn’t expecting to like it.” She confessed, panting heavily. “Am I ready for your dick now?”

Battle snorted, finding that legitimately funny. “You’re only taking two of my fingers.” He reminded her. “My dick is… bigger than just two fingers.” He grinned at her. “You want my dick in your ass?”

“Are you teasing me?” She asked, a coy smile pulling at her lips. Mara fisted her hands in his hair, pulling his head back. “You don’t get to tease me, Bambi. I’m the boss here.”

She began moving her hips again. Moving both his cock and his fingers inside her. 

Battle sighed. Appreciating the feel of her tight walls moving around his cock. Squeezing and stroking. Almost as if it were sucking on him. She really had the best fucking pussy! And she was so wet! Her juices gushing out of her with every thrust. Dripping between her thighs and over his balls. The space between them was so slick! They slid together like silk against silk. His confidence blustered by her first climax, Battle slipped in a third finger. Stretching her wider. 

Another heady moan cut through Mara’s throat.

“I wanna make you cum again.” He whispered in her ear. 

She nodded, bracing both hands on his shoulders while she put more force and speed into her motions. “This time I want you to cum at the same time as me.”

Gawd! She was so fucking wet! Even wetter now from her first orgasm. Wet, and tight, and moving fast. “I’ll try not to cum before.”

“You better not.” She warned. 

He twisted all three of his fingers inside of her. Pressing against her walls. Making sure she stretched equally on all sides. Being gentle at first, but becoming rougher and pressing harder as she increased her movements. Her motions forcing his fingers against her insides, so much so that he could feel his fingers against his cock through her walls. She was really, really into! It was so fucking hot! It took every ounce of self-control Battle had not to cum immediately. 

“Move faster.” She commanded, barking orders as if she had him tied up and at her mercy. 

Obediently, Battle bucked his hips, thrusting his cock up into her. As deep as he could go. Impacting her cervix with his head. 

“Your fingers.” She growled a clarification. “Move your fingers faster.” 

He wasn’t sure how much faster he could move them. They were in a tight space and at an odd angle. Battle didn’t wanna bruise or tear anything. But he followed the command as best he could. Wiggling all three fingers back and forth as fast as he could until he felt her tighten around his again. 

Her hands fisting in his hair. Her back arching. Pussy squeezing his cock as a wave of fresh juices squirted between them. 

Battle was only half a second behind her. His own orgasm rushing on the heels of hers. 

Mara slumped against his chest. Exhausted and breathing hard. Breasts heaving with each intake of breath. The barrel piercings in her nipples catching on his chest hair. 

“I wasn’t expecting to make you cum the first time.” He confessed. 

“I wasn’t expecting to like it.” She admitted. 

“So, you’ll want to do it again.” It was shameless how excited he sounded. 

“Yes.” She nodded, resting her head in the curve of his shoulder and smiling into his collarbone. “I’ll want to do that again.”


End file.
